Fellytones & Fuzzy Slippers 2: When Blondes Attack
by The Treacle Tart
Summary: Ron and Hermione are getting married. Harry and Ginny have moved in together. What could go wrong? The sequel to Fellytones and Fuzzy Slippers. Featuring Fanon!Draco, terribly twisted fandom clichés, and the return of the girlfriend from hell. COMPLET
1. The Deputy Minister of Foreign Affairs

**It's back. You asked for a sequel and here it is. Okay, maybe _you_ didn't ask, but that girl in the back -- the one with the orange shirt, waving the 'Weasley is My King' banner – she asked. So here it is.**

**To understand certain things in this fic you will have to read Fellytones and Fuzzy Slippers: A Love Story. This story picks up immediately after that fic dropped off. **

**I'll wait right here while you catch up.**

**Special thanks to Diana: a beta and a friend.**

**Fellytones and Fuzzy Slippers 2: When Blondes Attack**

**Chapter One – The Deputy Minister of Foreign Affairs**

Draco Malfoy was not a morning person.

He much preferred getting up at the crack of one o'clock, when the foul and offensive sunlight that threatened to burn his sensitive eyes was beginning to dissipate. This morning, however, his beloved slumber was interrupted by something nudging him. Something was curled around him, nuzzling his neck, and disturbing his beauty sleep. That something had better be incredibly attractive or there would be hell to pay.

He slowly opened his eyes to see a head of long, wavy black hair. Other parts of that head were otherwise occupied with his chest and abdomen. _'Well at least she was making herself useful,'_ he considered with disdain. He let out a sigh and she giggled. Draco rolled his eyes in reply. _'Now who the hell was this?'_ he thought indignantly. '_What was her name?'_

He tried to remember the evening before. Ministry party - _dull_. Foreign delegates -_boorish._ Women swooning around him - _what else is new?_ But which one of them had black hair? France? No, that was that blonde twit who refused to eat anything domestic. Germany? No, that was the large, square-ish woman who kept staring at the French twit like she was an éclair. Draco shuddered at the thought.

Italy? That's right. It was the Italian girl. Rose? Rosita? Rosario. Her name was Rosario. Daughter of the Italian Ambassador. Blue eyes. Scandalous body. Quite …enthusiastic. They drank wine. Lots of wine. And she giggled - at everything he said. Annoying that, no challenge at all. Now the tricky part: How to eject said Italian girl from house without sparking international incident. He didn't want another Norwegian fiasco on his hands. But who could blame him, really? They were twins.

_How to play this? _

"Rosario," he whispered through a sleep filled voice.

"Draco, you are finally awake." An otherwise sexy smile was ruined by that ridiculous shrill giggle. "What are we going to do today?" she asked coquettishly, while stroking his chest with a long, red fingernail.

Draco's defensive instincts immediately kicked in. 'Danger, Danger! Time to think quickly!'

He calmly smiled and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "I have several meetings to attend this afternoon and this evening, love. I'm afraid I will be rather busy and mostly unreachable. I will be free later tonight and we could have a late dinner. How does that sound?"

She smiled, seemingly very pleased at his proposal. "Perfect. I will just shower and leave-"

"Rosario, darling, I hate to bring this up but there will be a delegation from Spain here is twenty minutes and I need to get ready. Would you mind showering at your place?" His apologetic words were interposed with kisses along her ear and cheek.

She giggled again.

"Of course. I should hurry anyway. Poppa will be asking many questions," she purred. "Until tonight." She leaned in and kissed him, pressing her naked body onto his. She got up and began retrieving the trail of clothes that ran from his bed to the front door. He waited until he heard her shut the front door before he summoned his Dicto-Quill and began speaking:

_Senior Stregavario, _

_I am please to inform you that the Ministry of Magic has approved your request to join the delegation to Asia. We ask that you leave immediately for India where the first leg of the tour is already underway. A portkey has been prepared to transfer your family and staff early this afternoon. We will have your things packed and forwarded to you straight away in order to expedite your trip. We trust that you are the proper person for this prestigious assignment and that you will do all you can to bridge the gap in communications and trade._

_On a personal note, I will be saddened to see you go. I've enjoyed having your family._

_Respectfully, _

_Draco Malfoy_

_Deputy Minister of Foreign Affairs._

He gave a smirk as he reread the last sentence of his note. Sometimes it was just that easy.

He placed his seal on the note and handed it to Russell, his falcon, for quick delivery. _'Owls were so bourgeois.'_

As he showered he wondered if he had time for a manicure before his lunch with the representative from Nepal. He had his niece with him, didn't he? What was her name?

It would be late in the evening when Draco returned home. Despite the attempt of many a young women and a couple of young men, Draco decided to return home alone. He did not like having his usual ten hours of sleep interrupted, especially after three or four rounds the night before. _Had she no etiquette?_ Appalling, really.

He had settled in his bed when he heard the pecking of a very energetic bird on his windowsill. With some grumbling he opened the window and immediately recognized it as a Hogwarts' owl. He grasped the letter in the bird's talons and stiffened when he recognized Severus Snape's looping signature on the seal. For an uptight, brusque, overgrown bat, he had a decidedly feminine signature.

Draco carefully opened the seal and read the short note:

_Mr. Malfoy, _

_A matter has come to my attention that concerns you. It would be in your best inertest to join me for tea tomorrow afternoon._

_S. Snape_

'_Tea!'_ Draco thought with a start. That was not a good sign. Severus Snape never took tea with anyone; the Potions master found the entire ritual a nuisance as it meant conversation and congeniality, two things he had little use for. Afternoon tea was a colossal waste of time, unless he was poisoning someone of course, which might be the desired alternative in some cases. For Snape to be offering Draco tea meant he had some bad news, and if it was bad enough to drive Severus Snape to tea, it was very bad indeed.

Draco sat and carefully thought of anything out of the ordinary that had occurred in the last few weeks. He had just turned 22 and celebrated the occasion with all the revelry it deserved. He was a Malfoy, after all, and the illustrious infamy attached to the name aside, it meant something when it came to celebrations. A Malfoy function was an event, an extravaganza. Perhaps the 200 dancing girls was a bit much, but Draco considered it a well deserved gift, one that was easily expensed as a "Consultation Fee." The Minister of Abu Dhabi _was_ grateful for his assistance on that ugly union problem; it was the least he could do to show his appreciation. And, had he thought to do it himself, Draco was sure that he would have.

He doubted that could have caused Snape's correspondence; that paperwork was well buried. No, for Snape to offer tea was like a normal person offering you a cigarette before the firing squad had their way with you.

Suddenly, Draco felt something he hadn't in years – fear.

The dungeons were just as he remembered them: dank, dull and completely lacking in any style. 'Did the man realize that there were other colors in the known universe other than black and green?' He paused to sneer at a particularly atrocious painting on Snape's wall of a snake eating a pig when the familiar silky voice of his professor filled the room.

"Prompt Mr. Malfoy. I see you understand the gravity of my correspondence." Severus Snape looked exactly the same as he did five years ago: pale, thin and coated in a thin layer of some something vile. Whatever he looked like, Severus Snape had the ability to do what no one else would even consider – he could make Draco shut up. With nothing more than a quick nod in reply, Draco sat down on the settee and waited for the gentle swing of the guillotine.

A trembling house elf appeared, and without a word to either of the room's occupants, set a tray of tea and pastries on the table in from of Draco. Upon seeing the plateful of pastries, he almost fainted, getting invited to tea was bad enough; it meant death but at least it would be quick -- Severus Snape was not one to waste time when he tortured his victims. But to actually be offered sweets from the single most sour person on the face of the earth meant a slow and painful death, like being pecked to death by rabid hummingbirds. This was not going to be pretty.

Snape began to speak. "Mr. Malfoy….Draco-"

"Stop," Draco yelled, panicked and shaking. "First tea, then napoleons, and now you call me Dra...Draco. What in blazes is going on? What is so terrible that it would drive you to amiability? Am I dying of some excruciating long term disease? Was I supposed to be in Gryffindor? Am I really a Weasley? Out with it!" His eyes were wild and his hair was sticking out in all directions making him resemble a mad, half-plucked porcupine.

"Dra…Mr. Malfoy, calm down. Leave fits of stupidity to the lower houses, if you please. I merely needed to discuss with you the terms of your father's will."

And the world stopped.

"My father's what?"

Lucius Malfoy was an early casualty of the war. His death by Cornish Pixie trampling prompted Draco to pick a side, and quickly. He chose the one that looked like it would win, not the one that would allow a few million flying purple imps to stampede over a man and let him die slowly over the course of three days. Not that Lucius didn't deserve it, but the bleachers and concession stands set up to witness the flattening was a bit much.

Until now, Draco's access to the Malfoy estate and all its holdings had been frozen until such time as someone in the Ministry took his head out of his arse long enough to file the right paperwork. In the meanwhile, Draco had had to work for a living. Well, work and use the million or so Galleons he had embezzled from his father over the years.

So, something was going to postpone the big payoff. Draco sat down and absentmindedly sipped some tea and bit into a lemon square.

The noose had been placed around his neck. Time for Lucius to tighten it.


	2. Greetings From the Other Side

**Chapter 2: Greetings From The Other Side**

The small platinum pyramid sat on the narrow table, mocking Draco with its very existence. Like everything else to do with his father, it was pretentious and flamboyant. While normal wizards simply had a scroll detailing the distribution of their estate, Lucius Malfoy had this monstrosity created: one last tribute to the fiddling emperor whose kingdom had burned to the ground. With its ornate etchings, bejeweled base, and the Malfoy family crest engraved onto its face, it sat as a gaudy reminder of where he came from and how much of a failure he was at upholding his family name. 'At least I'm still alive you pompous windbag,' Draco thought with relish.

In Draco's estimation, Lucius was an ordinary man. He was not overly intelligent, his wizarding skills were mediocre at best, and he had a temper that often clouded his better judgment. He treated his peers as servants, his servants as slaves, and his family like both. What he did possess, was charisma. He could talk a father into handing over the virginity of his beloved daughter and thank Lucius for taking it. He could burn down a family's home and convince them they didn't want to live there in the first place. He could steal a fortune in Galleons and convince his victims that were better off being in a lower tax bracket. And he could convince the most powerful Dark Lord in over a century that he worthy of being the second in command. He had neither the ability nor the aptitude for the position, but he had the ambition and it was enough to get him the power he felt was his due. Lucius Malfoy was an ordinary man, but no one had the courage to tell him.

"I should have known he wouldn't make this easy," Draco finally said aloud to Snape who quietly watched him from across the room, his eyes narrowed and contemplative. The Potions master's concerned stare was grating on Draco's last nerve. Getting sympathy from Snape was like getting invited to dinner by vultures; yet somehow more painful.

"If nothing else, Lucius was a showman," Snape responded. "You couldn't expect him to remain out of the spotlight for long by something as trivial as death."

When Draco was a child he had heard some Muggle-born talking about something called a circus and referring to it as "The Greatest Show on Earth." He spoke of a man in tacky clothing who stood in the middle directing everything else while doing nothing himself but talking. Patrons sat mesmerized, eating popcorn and riveted by his words, waiting for him to speak and tell them what was happening, as if without him the show was over. Naturally, Draco thought he was talking about Lucius.

He gave one long last sigh as he stared at the glittering pyramid. For some reason he felt a container of popcorn was in order as this was sure to be the "The Greatest Show on Earth."

With only the slightest of nods to indicate he was ready, Draco waited for the performance that was sure to be grand. This was Lucius they were talking about; at the very least it would be entertaining.

Snape took out his wand and with a not–so-gentle tap and a sneer he said, "We sit in the greatness of Lord Malfoy." Draco fought to hide his amusement. Only his father would leave such a statement as his password. Where ever Lucius was, Draco knew he was smiling because he made Snape say it – aloud and in front of a witness. 'Even in death he could get the better of you,' he thought bitterly.

The small pyramid began to glow and slowly open until all the sides were flat on the table. A wisp of smoke rose and began to spiral and a chorus of angels began to sing in tribute to the dearly departed. After a ten minute serenade which left Snape twitching violently, a deep voice boomed, "The last will and testament of Lucius F. Malfoy. Order of Merlin, First Class, the Supreme Leader of **P**ureblood **R**edeemers **I**nsuring **C**onjuring **K**ind, and Potentate of the **A**ssociation for the **R**ecognition of the **S**orcering **E**lite."

Draco just shook his head. Only his father would be so proud of being the head of PRICK and a royal ARSE. Both positions gained through bribery and blackmail, no less. And that Order of Merlin First Class was granted because: 1- half of the Ministry was on his payroll, 2 – the other half wanted to be, and 3- Lucius liked the way it looked on his stationary.

_"Hello Draco."_

Draco froze at the sound of his father's voice. He slowly looked up to see the image of his father, dressed in his most extravagant robes and plumed hat, staring up at him from the billows of smoke pouring out of the flattened pyramid. In all his handsome majesty, Lucius presided like a lord over his kingdom, the regal king to the lowest court jester. Draco had the ability to condescend with a single word, putting you in your place with the smallest of sneers. But he was a novice compared to Lucius, who could make you feel like dirt without saying a word. You hardly had to be in the same room.

_"If you are seeing this message," _the specter continued_, "it means I have passed from this world on to the next. No more trying to be lord and master over the rabble, I suppose. I must now be working on Supreme-Being and Demi-God. It was only a matter of time."_

'There was never any doubt, father,' Draco thought.

_"If you have survived me it also means you have changed sides as I had left implicit instruction you be assassinated if still within the Death Eater ranks after my death. Couldn't have my name forgotten as the Top Malfoy in the new Regime, could I? Nothing personal, of course."_

Snape showed some surprise at this statement, but Draco was more than aware of his father's instructions. A favorite game of Lucius's was 'One Hundred and One Ways Draco Will Meet His End." Murder by fellow Death Eater at Lucius's instruction was 8, 32 and 75: stabbing with a blunt object, poisoning his caviar, and beaten like a piñata, respectively.

_"Abandoning the Death Eaters. Abandoning the cause. Of this, I am saddened to say, I am not surprised. You never did have the right…motivation did you, Draco?"_

The tone in which Lucius said 'motivation' left him cold.

_"Alas, there are no remaining Malfoys to leave the fortune to – "_

Narcissa divorced Lucius and was quickly absolved of any claim to the Malfoy fortune. Draco had thought her mad for leaving until he heard she made a fortune selling beauty supplies to Muggles on something called The Home Shopping Network. Apparently, Muggles will buy anything from someone pretty and vacant looking.

_"And I can't bear with the thought of giving it to …charity."_

'Not unless it was the "Death to All Orphans Fund" or the "Raise the Next Dark Lord Scholarship," aye, father.'

_"So that leaves you…my dearest son."_

'Here it comes.' Draco braced himself.

_'The majority of my estate, save a few items I have set aside for your traitor of a Godfather, Severus Snape, will go to you in its entirety after you have completed one small request."_

Somehow Draco doubted Lucius and he had the same definition of a small request.

_"You must restore the honor of the Malfoy family name."_

Draco snorted at the request. 'Easy enough father, I'll just ask God for a small series of plagues to wipe out a portion of the population that knew of you. A few locusts, a flood or two. I'm sure he has nothing better to do.'

_"You must have a pureblood heir to carry on the Malfoy name. And it must be a legitimate child. No grandson of mine will be born a bastard…he needs to earn that title."_

Draco was left speechless. He had to marry and produce a male heir in order to inherit a hundred million Galleons. He had to sell his freedom and breed in order to get what was rightfully his. And a pureblood at that. There weren't any left that he wasn't related to. If they did try to breed the result would be a freak of nature. He couldn't be responsible for another Crabbe or Goyle.

'Well, once the child was born it was a matter of quick divorce back to freedom,' he thought with some relief. 'There would be enough money to set his _bride_ and the brat up hundreds of miles away. There's a small island off the coast of Japan-'

_"And Draco…"_

He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. Of course, there would be more. He should have known Lucius was not done.

_"Just to make sure it's all official, you will be required to have a bonding ceremony."_

Naturally.

Why not invoke a thousand year old Pureblood ceremony that no one has used in three hundred years just to make things interesting. Congratulations father, you have officially earned the title Royal ARSE.

_"If you don't comply with my wishes by the time you turn twenty-five all my estate will be used to build a memorial to the greatest wizard the world has ever known…me."_

"You bastard."

_"Yes, I am a bastard…a title I have earned."_

Draco wondered if there was a way to kill a dead man.

_"I say my goodbyes now, Draco. I have other worlds to conquer."_

And with a flourish done in a true Lucius Malfoy style, he was gone.

Draco watched the smoke dissipate and the sides of the garish pyramid lift and seal. He knew that seeing his father again would generate feelings, he didn't know they were the sort of feelings that would make him want to beat someone about the head and shoulders with a large spiked club.

Lucius succeeded in doing the one thing he had been doing for all of Draco's life – running it. Dictating how he would live. If he wanted the family fortune he would have to marry and bond with some hag of a witch and produce an heir to carry on the cursed Malfoy name. Obviously, Lucius thought that the Malfoy genes would be enough to reproduce his precious, buffed and polished arse. Well, Draco would show him. He will produce an heir. He will get his money. And he will raise the child to be everything Lucius was not: intelligent, talented and, Salazar help him, useful.

There was just one small problem. He needed to find a pureblood and his choices were few. The Malfoy name was not very popular among pureblood families who either saw him as an enemy or a traitor. He would need to do some serious planning and he didn't have a lot of time. He was already twenty two. In three years he had to woo a bride, wed the cow in an ancient bonding ceremony, and produce a son. As superior he liked to feel to the masses, even purebloods took nine months to make a child.

"Are you all right, Draco?" Snape's voice was full of concern. It was sickening.

"Fine…just thinking."

"Already planning, I see."

"Always planning, sir."

"Good to hear it." Snape seemed genuinely pleased.

"Sir, if you don't mind my asking, what were the small items father left to you?"

"Nothing much…a small pension, a few jewels and the villa in the south of France."

"We had a villa in the South of France?"

"It's lovely, actually."

"And he left it to you?"

Snape gave a small smile. "Draco, didn't you ever wonder why your father never harmed me or turned me over to his compatriots when he had a thousand chances to do so?"

He shrugged. "I always thought it had something to do with me."

"Don't be so self–centered, you twit. I was smarter than Lucius and he knew he couldn't get the better of me. You are smarter than him as well. Don't let him win, Draco."

"I have no intention to, sir."


	3. Two Blondes Don’t Make A Right

**Chapter Three – Two Blondes Don't Make A Right**

He arrived early which was something he normally would never do. He liked to make an entrance, to be noticed. One must survey a room before entering it, find out who to speak to, and who to avoid. More importantly, where the best wine was kept and where the prettiest girls congregated.

But this was a very special occasion, one that required a bit of foresight and planning, and most of all, subtlety. As highly impossible as he thought it, he needed to blend into his surroundings so as not to draw attention to himself. He was eye-catching by design, so this would prove a difficult job indeed.

His dinner companion was not difficult to spot, a statuesque blonde with dangerous curves and a jittery demeanor. She looked just as he pictured, only more nervous and tense than he expected. It was an obvious sign as to how much the Granger potions incident had affected her. With his most genteel smile, he rose and waved her over.

"Ms. Stead, a pleasure. Thank you so much for accepting my last minute invitation."

She quietly accepted his outstretched hand and gave a quick nod before sitting down across from him. While she quickly scanned the room, looking for anything suspicious as he beckoned a waiter over to get them some beverages.

She sat at their table wearing dark sunglasses and nervously wringing her napkin. The waiter strode over, "Can I get you something to drink? We have a wonderful cider that…."

"No!" she shrieked. "No cider. Never cider. Anything but cider."

"Okay," he replied. "How about some tea? Might I suggest…decaffeinated?"

"Fine." She continued her strangulation of the linen napkin. The waiter turner to her dinner companion. "And you, sir?"

"Amir's Sparkling Spring Water with three ice cubes and a twist of lemon. That's a twist… not a piece, or a chunk, or a slice…a twist. Think you can manage that?"

"Of course, sir," he smiled graciously and walked away muttering under his breath precisely what said patron could do with his twist and suggesting several different options for putting it there.

"Why are we here?" the nervous lady asked her smarmy escort.

"Just a friendly dinner," he replied. "I've heard a lot about you and an unfortunate incident that occurred not to long ago-"

"What did you hear?" Her left eye started to twitch.

"It doesn't matter," he replied silkily. "All that matters is you seem to me to be the sort of person who shouldn't be treated so poorly. Someone of your noticeable breeding and impeccable social standing deserves some respect. It seems to me you deserve…no, you should demand satisfaction."

She narrowed her still twitching eyes. "What's it to you?"

He gave her the crooked smile that always endeared him to the fairer sex. "I'm the same way you see. I demand satisfaction - I demand many things - and I usually get them. I think we could help each other."

She eyed him up and down and he could tell that she was beginning to melt. He was rather handsome, after all, but the last handsome guy she fell for was more trouble then he was worth so this may prove tricky.

"Why?" she asked suspiciously, warily.

He sighed. "Because there is something I want and the person who has it will not give it up easily …unless I make things rather uncomfortable for him."

"And how does this involve me?"

"We can discuss the how later. No need to reveal too much now. This is a simple dinner, after all." He cocked his head to the side, making him look so young and innocent.

As much as she liked young and innocent…"Why should I trust you? I don't even know you."

He leaned in. "I think you know enough. You hate some people. I hate some people. And together, we can make things rather unpleasant for them."

She smiled then, and he smiled back.

"You are a very convincing man, Mr.…?"

"Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

* * *

Marie Elena slowly removed her sun glasses. She knew that name. Ron had mentioned it enough. He also mentioned Hermione enough. Though she paid little attention to the bushy-haired, bookish, troll before, it was a name she would never forget. The little witch saw to that personally.

Yes, Ron also talked about Draco Malfoy with almost the same frequency. The spoiled son of a Death Eater who made his life miserable during their stint at Hogwarts. So, Ron's archenemy was seeking her out…looking for help….against someone they both hate.

This conversation just got a very interesting.

"Well Mr. Malfoy-"

"Please. Call me Draco." His voice was smooth and rich and oddly enchanting.

"All right…Draco, what did you have in mind."

They were interrupted by the waiter bringing them their drinks. "Here we are, "he stated cheerfully. "One hot tea, decaffeinated, and one Amir's Sparkling Spring Water with three ice cubes and a twist of lemon. Might I get you anything else?"

Neither bothered to acknowledge the waiter as they continued to eye each other carefully.

"All righty then," he said and left as quickly as possible sending up one last prayer to any god listening to break his leg just enough to get him sent home.

Draco continued to scrutinize Marie Elena, his cool eyes prickling her skin. Under the intense glare, she shivered until she could stand it no longer. "Draco. If you want something just tell me. I don't have the time – "

"But that's just it isn't it…you _do_ have the time. You have all the time in the world. You really have no where else to be."

She started to squirm a bit in her seat. "What are you –"

"Your altercation with Ms. Granger left you a bit scarred, did it not? Made you nervous to go out…date…fraternize at all, hasn't it?"

She hated to say it was true. She hated that the little bookworm got to her, but she did. Marie Elena wasn't much of a witch. She wasn't a squib, but she was no match for Hermione Granger. So when Hermione Granger decided she wanted Ron all for herself, she poisoned the one person who stood in her way. It took hours for the symptoms to finally go away and weeks for the nightmares to stop. Images of warts on her face, scars, mustaches and the unnaturally large nose she has the good sense to destroy in her teens, plagued her night after night.

Hermione had probably thought it funny, probably thought she was making a point by tormenting her. "Learn humility, compassion." Blaaah, blah, blah. Was it her fault she was beautiful and irresistible? NO! She couldn't help it if others were jealous and petty. No, Hermione Granger was cruel and manipulative and …and…scared the ever loving hell out of her. Marie Elena had turned into a bit of a recluse and it was that troll's fault. Maybe she did want revenge. Maybe she did want the little witch to suffer. Maybe she would hear what Draco Malfoy had to say.

"What are you offering?" she finally asked, her blue eyes steeled against his grey ones.

"Before we get to that," he began," I need to know what it is that you want."

"What do you mean?"

"Is it a matter of getting back an old lover or of destroying an enemy?"

Marie Elena thought about it for a moment. The best way to get even with Hermione would be to get Ron back. But there was no assurance that the bitch would go away to quietly heal from her abject humiliation. Ron was adorable and quite "talented" in certain areas, but was he worth the anxiety attacks that were sure to hit every time a shadow crossed her path? Was he worth a lifetime of looking over her shoulder and paranoia over every thing she drank for fear it would turned out to be some complicated potion designed to torment her? No. She wanted them both out of her life. She wanted them to suffer. She wanted to be able to drink cider with out breaking out into a rash.

"I want the witch to pay," she said, venomously.

A malicious smile crept across his face. "That's perfect. Now we can talk."

Draco seemed far too pleased and his manner made her instantly nervous. "What are we talking about? What are you planning?" she asked nervously.

"Impatient, aren't we. Trust me, my dear, your part in all this is small, but important."

As much as she believed the latter part of that statement she highly doubted the first part. "What do you need from me?"

"Not much, my dear. Just your soul. Now where is that blasted waiter? My ice cubes have melted."

"Pardon?" she squeaked.

"Your soul," he answered, simply. "Which word don't you understand?" he asked with a slightly creased brow. _'Bit slow on the uptake, this one.'_

She blinked several times, took a moment to scan the room looking for hidden cameras, turned back to face him, and blinked some more. "What in blazes are you talking about?"

He let out a dramatic sigh as he discontinued his search for a waiter. "Look, it's quite simple - You go off to a lovely spa in the Alps for a month or so of rest. Your body and mind will be in the lap of luxury, completely relaxed. Your soul will be with me on a little mission. I just need to borrow it for a bit. I'll give it back as good as new. You'll never know the difference. You will be well rested and somewhat thinner from being in suspended animation. Really, a win-win for us all."

She blinked a bit more. "In case I didn't make it clear before I'll repeat myself – What in blazes are you talking about? And what do you mean 'thinner and win-win' – what are you implying?"

He leaned in and patted her hand. "Your hips, dear, could use some work," he said consolingly. He leaned back and continued, his voice more firm. "And I thought I was being quite clear…. and quite generous. It's a five star spa."

"I'm leaving-"

"Oh, don't be so theatrical, it's just a little bit of magic on the… opaque side."

"Opaque? You mean dark?"

Draco waved his hand dismissingly. "Dark is such a sinister word. Opaque rolls off the tongue nicely, doesn't it? Say it with me - Oh-Payk. It's quite lovely, really."

"I don't care if you call it overcast, dusky or Shirley – it's still Dark Magic." Her head was beginning to pound and she was out of her little happy blue pills.

"Overcast," Draco said brightly. "I like that. Just covering the brightness. Very good- "

She continued to stare at him as if he had grown a second head – and it was covered in moles and an unidentifiable rash. Seeing her confusion – and quickly tiring of her lack of common sense - he started to elaborate. "It's a bit of old magic I found in a book. A simple library book. From a very special library. An overcast library if you really must know. The spell itself is really quite simple: a potion or two, an incantation, a few enchanted talismans, an animal sacrifice, eye of newt, wing of bat, blah, blah, blah. You know, the usual."

She started to get up again. "Mr. Malfoy – "

"Are we back to that? Look, take a moment to remember what was done to you. Remember how you were treated. Humiliated. Remember how you felt when you looked in the mirror and saw what was done to you…and how easily… and with so much relish, because she did enjoy it, my dear. She enjoyed every minute of it. They both probably got a really good laugh out of it." He leaned in again his and spoke in a harsh whisper: "You can just hear them can't you, laughing at your expense. Giggling at how they disgraced you. Probably bringing it up at dinner parties, tactless heathens that they are. And also think about this," he emphasized, "somehow_ I_ found out about it. Can it be such a secret?"

Her eyes went wide and she slowly sunk back into her chair; he hadn't thought about it before. She didn't think any one would find out but it would explain so much. She had thought it was just her "nervous" behavior. She was a bit jumpy lately. But it had to be more. They had to know. The odd looks, the whispers, the business cards of therapists sitting on her desk next to boxes tissues and dark chocolates. Chocolates that were attacking her thighs. Oh, would the madness ever stop?

A familiar hatred was bubbling up inside her, one she thought she had gotten passed. Would she ever really move on? Could she ever really forget? "Tell more about this 'Overcast' Magic.' What does it entail?"

He smiled pleasantly. "It's really rather painless. You take a nice long rest and I borrow your soul. I use it to create another me, a female me. It's a way for me to be at two places at once – two bodies, one purpose, and all Draco. It will be like having a twin…no, more like a …what do Muggles call it when they completely duplicate a person? A clown or something. It'll be like that."

"You will replicate yourself using my soul," she said plainly.

"Excellent summary skills," he drawled. "Now where is the damned waiter?"

"Why don't I just go as myself? There are glamour spells-"

"My dear, let's get something straight - I work alone. I don't know you or your mental facilities well enough to trust you with a mission of this magnitude. There is too much at stake and I can't trust it to someone so easily thwarted by that frizzy-haired, mostly Muggle frau. And frankly I'd be better looking."

"What is that supposed to mean!" she snapped. _'I'll give you better looking!'_

"No offense, really, but I am a Malfoy: natural silver blonde hair, piercing grey eyes, physically fit, fined-boned, delicate features. Have you seen me in my Quidditch uniform?"

"I don't see – "

"It's not important that you see anything. What is important is that I need to get very close to certain people. I need to infiltrate a very tight knit group of _friends_ and convince them to reacquaint themselves with a person they considered an enemy most of their lives. I need someone intelligent, charming, captivating, resourceful, cunning, and exceptionally good looking. In other words I need me …only with breasts. I even have a name, "Iris St. Janus. Iris because I really have such lovely eyes, Saint because I am practically a God, and Janus because it's a moon of Saturn and I have a heavenly body. Isn't it just lovely? One doesn't often get to name oneself, I did research and everything."

There was something about Draco Malfoy that frightened Marie Elena. He spoke flippantly, but was noticeably resolute and scheming …and very tightly wound. He was ominous, like a thunder storm, but as unstable as a lightning storm, and it was clear to her he wanted…needed something very badly and he would destroy anyone who tried to prevent him getting it. And he needed her. In return for her help, he would help her get revenge on that pretentious, pompous, patronizing bitch of a witch - and he would do it properly.

By the sound of it, Draco intended on ruining many lives to get what he wanted. Nothing would stand in his way. He was a dangerous enemy, but could also be a powerful ally. A very valuable ally.

"What is it that you get out of this?" she asked apprehensively.

"None of your concern," he said, more calmly. He took a moment to run his hand down his lapel to straighten it. "Let's just say I've had my eye on someone for a long time now and her useless boyfriend stands in my way. If I can make her mine, solve a little problem I have thanks to my half wit of a father, make said boyfriend's life miserable and ruin another set of useless lives in the process, it makes for a good day all around."

She eyed him for a moment. "I really have no choice, do I?" she asked, resignedly.

He shrugged. "It's either a luxurious spa in the Alps or a lumpy sofa in a hidden dungeon."

There was nothing in his voice indicating he was kidding. There wasn't the slightest bit of humor in his eyes, which started out as enchanting and quickly became cold. Marie Elena realized something quickly: as charming as he was, Draco Malfoy was not a nice man. He was self serving, manipulative and naturally cruel. He would either view her as an adversary or a collaborator; as a stepping stone or a partner. Frankly, she was tired of getting stepped on.

"I have always wanted to visit the Alps," she said with a wide smile.

Draco smiled back. "You are as intelligent as you are beautiful, my dear. Now, might I interest you in a spot of dinner?"


	4. Deconstructing Harry

**Chapter Four – Deconstructing Harry**

'What does one do after killing a Dark Lord?' Harry found himself wondering more and more each day.

He remembered a time, not too long ago, when getting through the day meant nothing more than avoiding his rotund and venomous cousin, and his wretched aunt and uncle. Harry paused for a moment and allowed himself a small smile as he thought of Dudley, now married to a beast of a woman with a speech impediment and a facial tick, and their fat brood of little piglets. His smile grew as he imagined them all running around Aunt Petunia immaculate yard, tearing up the rhododendron, tracking mud on her pristine Spanish tiled floors, and using Uncle Vernon great balding head for target practice. How did that saying go? The mills of gods…. and all that. Harry was thankful for these small pleasures in his life.

As difficult as his childhood was, his adolescence held little improvement. As he got older, getting through the day meant trying not get killed by an evil overlord or the minions said evil overlord conditioned to do his bidding. That would be one evil overlord - currently a pile of smoldering dust, and his minions – currently dementor bait. Thinking back to those days now, in the face of the uncertainty that plagued almost every waking moment of his existence, he grew nostalgic. He very nearly considered those to be the good old days, the days when had goals and an objective. A purpose.

Time ceased to be for Harry Potter. Clocks and watches only served to remind him that minutes and days and weeks were passing and he was wasting them – one second at a time. It shouldn't bother him as much as it did, all he wanted his whole life was freedom - freedom from the Dursleys, from Voldemort, from evil in general. But, with this great expanse of leisure time before him, Harry seemed to find freedom almost as daunting as his confinement at Number 4 Privet Drive.

Money was not an issue, killing a Dark Lord and saving the world was a very lucrative business. Time was not a factor now that he wasn't facing his imminent death at every turn. His problem was that he didn't know what to do with his life. He had no aspiration. He did once – not dieing can be terribly time consuming. But now that he no longer had a price on his head, what was he to do. It was almost as if he had never stopped to consider his own survival.

One thing he had now, that he never had before, was Ginny. Thanks to his interfering best friends, his own ill-conceived but well-meaning plans to help said best friends get together, and a highly unusual trip to a small cottage in the Welsh Country side, he had won the favors of his lady love. They were planning on moving in together in a few weeks. The prospect of that, and his recently acquired degree in Advance Defense Against the Dark Arts was a start. He was making steps towards figuring out were he hoped his life would take him and it was a start at the very least.

* * *

Across the room Ginny Weasley watched Harry go about his day, like a child lost in crowd, his eyes unfocused, his brow perpetually furrowed. With a determined step she made her way towards him.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked not masking the concern in her voice. She reached out and her slander and lightly freckled arms encircled his waist.

"You mostly," he answered.

"Mostly, eh. That's not good. I mustn't be doing my job properly if you are thinking of something else," she pouted. "I have to work on that."

"I do admire your diligence."

"My diligence, eh."

"Well, that and your arse. But it's a close race."

Laughter filled the air, promptly followed by the sound of passionate kisses. A moan of passion –

"Oi, you're supposed to be packing."

quickly became of moan of annoyance.

"Don't you know how to knock." Ginny loved Ron, she really did, but her brother had the most amazing sense of timing of anyone she had ever known. How someone could always know the precise moment to interrupt was astounding.

"What's the fun in knocking? I find all it does it warn people you're coming. Makes for a dull day." Ron Weasley threw himself on Harry's lumpy sofa.

"Where's Hermione?" Ginny asked.

"Looking at flowers for her bridal bouquet," he said as he kicked off his shoes.

"Why aren't you with her? You are part of the wedding, you know."

"Trust me she doesn't want me there. She asks my opinion and then gets mad at me if I say something different than what she wanted in the first place. I don't understand Muggle weddings anyway, so I figure she should have whatever she wants, the way she wants it. I'll just show up when she tells me, wear what she tells me, and eats whatever shows up in front to me. We dance, we have some cake and that's that."

"Well that's bloody romantic of you."

"I just want to be married to her, Gin. And I want her to be happy. If planning an elaborate wedding-party-thing is what she wants then I am all for it. Nothing else matters to me except that we're together for the rest of our lives."

Ginny stared at her brother. He practically glowed when he talked about Hermione. There was something so sweet in his eyes, something that said he spoke the truth; he was in love and nothing else mattered.

"Besides," he continued. "The honeymoon is what counts. I figure if I make her happy during the wedding, she makes me happy during the honeymoon. A fair trade I think."

Now that is the brother she knew and loved. Nothing like a good old shot of Weasley hormones to bring her back to reality. "Right," she said plainly.

Harry began to pack boxes as he quietly listened to the exchange between brother and sister, a light tap of his wand reduced a pile of books for easy transport. Ginny saw what was becoming a very familiar glint in his eyes, one that said he was thinking of something he really didn't want to be thinking of, but something that refused to leave him alone.

Ginny knew Harry well enough to know that there was some things Harry was not yet willing to share with her. They cared for each other, loved each other even, but that level of intimacy was something Harry was not prepared for just yet. As much as she wanted it, she let it go, hoping that Harry would come to her in his own time.

So Ginny watched in silence as Harry absentmindedly tapped, reduced, packed some items and then began again, all the while looking as though he hadn't the faintest idea where he was. She left him to his quiet thoughts, not wanting to trespass.

Ron was not so discerning. "What the heck's eating you, Harry."

"Wha..what?" he asked coming out of his stupor.

"You're standing there with this far away look in your eyes, all glazed and trance like…you all right?"

"Fine," he stated plainly.

"Fine? Who do you think you're talking to? I know when you are fine-"

"Ron," Ginny began warningly, "leave Harry alone. We have a lot of packing to do and he's very tired."

"Tired from tapping a wand? It's not like he has to actually lift the stuff."

"No, you clod, from being up all night with me. I was particularly…enthusiastic last night," she replied with a smirk.

"I'm not hearing this," Ron yelped, as he quickly covered his ears with his hands. Much to Ron's dismay, Ginny chose this moment to grab of handful of Harry's bottom and give a firm squeeze.

"My eyes!" Ron yelped, as he quickly covered his eyes with his hands. "All right I can take a hint. I've seen enough. I've barely gotten over the last time I saw you two together. I may need extensive therapy now."

With a spring in his step he got up and walked to the door. "Do me a favor, next time you want to be alone try not to scar me for life. A simple 'get your arse out of here' will suffice. I'm not that dense you know."

"Ron," Ginny called.

"Yeah."

"Get your arse out of here."

"See, now was that so difficult. And look my ears aren't bleeding or anything."

With a crooked smile he left Harry and Ginny alone. Harry just smiled at Ginny as he continued to pack. "Ron can be dense sometimes, can't he," he said.

"Yeah, he can…but he's honest Harry."

"What's that supposed to mean," he replied, the creases in his temple growing deeper.

"Nothing. All I'm saying is that Ron says what he thinks. It's not always tactful but you always know where you stand."

"Ron is pretty sure of himself."

"No, he just doesn't know any other way. He's as uncertain about things as the rest of us, but he doesn't let it stand in his way. He feels he's already lost so much time. He's tired of holding stuff in."

"He told you all that."

"No, I just know."

Harry said nothing and turned back to the empty boxes. Ginny felt her throat tighten. "It's…it's important to talk about things," she said softly. "It's what makes a relationship work."

Harry nodded in agreement and continued his packing, quickly falling back into the same pattern: tap, reduce, pack. That glint back in his eyes.

Ginny just shook her head. Harry was somewhere else; he constantly retreated to that same place in his mind where Ginny was not privy to. And she wanted entry into that spot more than she would ever let on, because only then would they truly be together.

Ginny made a quiet promise to herself. She wouldn't settle for less than all of Harry. She waited too long to have him to settle for only bits and pieces, despite how much she enjoyed those bits and pieces. Now it was just a matter of convincing Harry that's what he wanted as well.


	5. Reading Between the Lines

**Author's notes: Many thanks to my beloved Abigail. Sorry about the gaps in updating. I will try to be better about getting the next bits to you.**

**Chapter Five – Reading Between the Lines**

She didn't know what she was looking for in that book store, but she knew it was where she needed to be. No one understood that. They accepted it, as no one as really willing to argue with her about it, cowards that they were. But they didn't truly understand it. There is something beautiful about the printed word, something so brutally honest. Not that the words themselves were necessarily always true, but that they left themselves out the open, exposed, leaving the reader to discern fact from fiction, myth from truth, fantasy from reality. They informed, they entertained, they enlightened – and they were portable. What else could a girl want?

Hermione Granger was planning her wedding. Most girls spent a lifetime doing this, dreaming of dresses and flowers and music and dancing. Most girls already had the affair planned out down to the most minute of details – seating arrangements, ice sculptures, toenail polish. Hermione Granger wasn't most girls. Most girls didn't spend their formative years battling evil and saving the world. Most girls didn't have an army of soldiers under their command at the age of seventeen. Most girls couldn't take out a Death Eater with a hex thrown from fifty yards.

Hermione had been a bit preoccupied with taking down a crackpot intent on world domination and the extinction of half the world, rather than angsting over about table settings and whether she should serve the beef or the chicken. Right now, however, she would rather face the crackpot -- it would be less painful and not nearly as difficult.

She hadn't a clue what she was doing, a state she would not accept lightly. She knew she didn't want a wizard ceremony. She would not wear robes on her wedding day. Hermione Granger was a girl and she had curves, nice ones, and it would not do to have them hidden under shapeless, serviceable robes on what was supposed to be one of the most important days of her life – followed closely by the day she and her friends saved the world, and the first time she walked into a library. The latter still gave her chills.

Wizarding ceremonies were all about rituals and words. They were interesting but not the least bit romantic. She couldn't disregard the customs outright, but she could incorporate them into the proceedings and still have the traditions she grew up with -- the silly romantic things most normal girls wanted on that day. More than anything else Hermione wanted to be normal. Just this once. Afterwards, she could go back to the maelstrom that she called a life. With Ron at her side it promised to be even more tempestuous, but so much more rewarding. Such a change in her life deserved to be celebrated with grandeur and splendor -- a real extravaganza. She wanted it to be perfect, and it would be. Hermione Granger would never settle for less.

Ron was no help as his opinion only served to further confuse her. He was much better at relieving her tension at the end of the day, anyway. One should always play to one's strengths, after all, and if that's where his strengths lie than she should work with that. It was her cross to bear.

Thinking of his blue eyes served to refocus her thoughts. She was in a book store , looking for something that might help her plan out the day that would make her Hermione Weasley…Hermione Granger Weasley…Hermione G. Weasley.

_Focus, Hermione. Focus._

"I wouldn't use that."

She turned to the source of the voice only to be stunned silent. Next to her stood one of the most beautiful women Hermione had ever seen. They were the same height, but the similarities ended there. She had delicate features and a slender frame, enhanced by long, straight, silvery blonde hair and haunting grey eyes. Though Hermione was sure she had never seen her before, she looked incredibly familiar.

"I wouldn't use that," the apparition repeated, pointing to the latest edition of _Muggle Marriage Made Easy_ clasped tightly Hermione's hand. "Not unless you want a wizard's interpretation of Muggle customs. Bridal showers actually take place in a bathroom. Stag parties with real stags. I won't even tell you where they expect you to wear the garter."

Hermione looked down at the book not quite sure what to say or do. She managed a meek, "Thank you," while re-shelving the book.

"You're Hermione Granger, aren't you?"

"How-"

"I would have to be incredibly dim not to recognize you. You 're part of the trio that stopped He-Who…Voldemort. Sorry," she said sheepishly. "It takes some getting used to."

"Don't apologize for that. I had a hard time with it myself sometimes." Hermione found something very warm in her grey eyes, and something very gracious about her nature. Despite that fact that this woman looked remarkably familiar, those particular traits seemed wrong, as if they didn't fit her persona.

"I would recommend this book." She held out _A Thousand Cultures, One Lifetime: Weddings Spanning the World_. "It has different traditions and customs from all over the world. Different religions, different regions, and there's a whole section on how to mix them flawlessly. Forgive my assumptions, but from the last book you were holding, I thought that perhaps you were trying to find a way to mix wizarding ceremonies and Muggle ones. Not that I blame you, Wizard ceremonies are so cut and dry, whereas Muggle ones as so….so romantic. There's something about wearing that flowing white dress that's just so divine, angelic almost. I can't image getting the same feeling from stiff wizard's robes."

Hermione smiled broadly. "Exactly," she said excitedly. "It's nice to see someone understands what I want."

"Isn't the groom very helpful? Your friends?" she asked.

"Not really," Hermione answered. "Ron's a dear but he doesn't understand Muggle weddings at all. Ginny nearly went insane planning her own wedding not to long ago, and I don't think she is too keen on reliving that anytime soon, especially since it never happened. Besides she and Harry are beginning their own life together and I don't want to burden them."

"Oh, you're marrying Ron Weasley!" she said excitedly. "How brilliant. And when you say Harry, you mean Harry Potter, don't you? I can't tell you how odd it is for me to hear you talk so casually about them."

"They're just people, like you and me."

"Maybe you," she said with a shy smile. " I don't think I could ever have been that brave."

"I didn't feel very brave. We did what we felt we had to. There wasn't much of choice."

"There's always a choice," she said firmly. "In everything we do. It's what makes us what we are, it's what defines us. Some choices are more important than others, like saving the world or hiding in a cave until the dust settles. Other are more mundane, like what to have for breakfast. Which, by the way, could be just as crucial to world peace; there'd be blood in the streets if I go too long without my morning coffee."

Hermione laughed loudly and the attractive woman smiled broadly before continuing: "Others, of course are cause for pure joy. Like your wedding, for example. You have so many choices to make: what to wear, what to serve, what music to play, rings, flowers, location, colors, guest lists, seating plans."

"That's a really long list," Hermione said nervously, as if realizing for the first time how much planning this wedding would entail.

"Well, that book can help you. I always find that if one seeks answers they can always be found in the pages of books. I swear, I could live in a library. I could spend days just drifting between the shelves. All that knowledge in one place." She paused and bit her lower lip, looking embarrassed. "If you haven't guessed, I'm a bit of a book worm," she said with a giggle.

"So am I!" Hermione nearly squealed. "Isn't this a wonderful bookstore? It's one of my favorites. I'm here all the time."

"I thought so. I did notice they had a portrait of you behind the counter…in a gold frame…under a spotlight."

"I wasn't kidding when I said I was here all the time," she said with a laugh.

"It doesn't surprise me to hear that. I thought I read somewhere that you were fond of books. I remember being really impressed by that because you don't hear so much about how knowledge and research played a part in it all. All you really only ever hear about grand heroics. I probably would have been more like you, gathering information and such. That were true power is, don't you think."

Yes, Hermione thought, she did think that very same thing. "You know I don't even know your name."

"It's Iris," she said with a small bow. "Iris St. Janus."

"Janus? Isn't that a moon of Saturn?"

"Yes," Iris answered with a smile. "You do know everything, don't you?"

"Yeah, everything but how to plan a wedding."

"I'm sure you can do it. You seem very capable."

Hermione smiled. Her first reaction to Iris was similar to her first reaction to Ron's last girlfriend, that cow, Marie Elena. They were both blonde and very beautiful. But where Marie Elena was narcissistic, egotistical, obnoxious, condescending, and rude, Iris was sweet, polite, bright, gracious, and funny. Hermione instantly felt comfortable around her, as if they had known each other for ages. It was uncanny how much they had in common.

"Let me buy you that book, as an early wedding present," Iris remarked.

"Oh, no, "Hermione protested. "I couldn't let you do that."

"Don't be ridiculous. I insist. It isn't often one encounters a living legend. Consider it a meager thank you for doing your part to bring about world peace."

Hermione hesitated as they left the bookstore after purchasing the book. Iris was so pleasant to talk to, so nice and interesting. She hated to see the discussion end.

"Would you like to get a cup of coffee or something?" Hermione found herself asking.

"I'd love to actually," Iris glowed. "We can talk about weddings," she said grabbing Hermione's arm and leading her down the street.

"You know you look awfully familiar to me," Hermione said as they made their way towards the café. "I can't place where we might have met or who you remind me of, but it's absolutely maddening. You don't seem like someone I would forget."

Iris smiled sweetly. "Oh, I'm no one special. Just a girl, like you."


	6. Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner

**Chapter Six – Guess Who's Coming to Dinner **

"Who is this bird, anyway? What do we know about her?" Ron asked before biting off the end of a biscuit and sending crumbs all over the newly set table.

"Ron," Ginny growled as she cleaned off his mess. "Is it possible for you to wait for our guest to arrive before you start eating? And what do you mean, who is she? If you don't know how do you expect us to?"

Ron shrugged while brushing crumbs off his jumper. "All I know is Hermione has been meeting her everyday for two weeks. At first, she said this Irene person was helping her with planning the wedding. Then it's lunches. Dinners. Shows. Next thing I know, they go shopping and Hermione comes home with the most hideous bits of clothing."

"Her name is Iris and Hermione's new clothes are not hideous, they're high fashion. She looks like she should be in a magazine."

Ron waved a half eaten biscuit in her general direction. "My Hermione doesn't pose for magazines, she writes for them. Long articles with words I can't pronounce. All she does lately is fiddle with her hair and put on layers of make-up. It's creepy, it is."

"She's doing it for you," Ginny offered with a dramatic sigh.

"What for?" Ron asked dutifully finishing the biscuit and spraying crumbs as he talked. "I liked her the way she was."

"And how was she?"

"She was…is… well, Hermione." He paused to brush the remainder of the crumbs off his clothes before he continued. "Her nose was always in a book. Her hair was wild and tickled my nose whenever I hugged her. She used to come to bed in my old Cannons tee-shirt; now she wears these complicated under things that take me half the bloody night to remove. I'm almost too worn out to get down to business by the time it comes off."

"Ron," Ginny began, cleaning off the last of the crumbs, "Hermione is who she always was. She's found a new friend that has introduced her to new things. Girly things that she's really never paid attention to before, seeing as her two best friends were guys who had could barely dress themselves. She's happy, and if you love her as much as you say you do, you'll support her."

"Don't let's start. No one loves her more than I do and I am supporting her. I'm just concerned, is all. I invited Irma to dinner, didn't I?"

"Iris, you clod, and you invited her to my house, volunteered me to cook the meal, and begged Harry to bring over a friend to introduce to her in a pathetic attempt to pass her off to someone else."

"I was being thoughtful. It's the kind of guy I am."

"Ron," she nearly growled, "I can hurt you and make it look like an accident. Don't ever forget that." She dutifully slapped his hand away as it reached for another biscuit. "Try that again and I'll singe your freckles clear off your body."

Ginny didn't want to alarm Ron, but she was concerned as well. Hermione had really taken to her new friend quickly and the influence this new friend seemed to have over her was astounding. Hermione had always been so strong willed and so resolute; it was difficult to imagine how this person managed to influence her so radically in so short a period of time.

"Who's Harry bringing, anyway?" Ron asked suddenly, eyeing the trifle longingly.

Ginny, who began to polish silverware so quickly she was sure to have friction burns, mumbled an answer and waved dismissingly.

"What was that?" His eyes narrowed. Frenzied silver polishing was as bad a sign as he could imagine.

"What? What did you say?" she replied, innocently.

"I didn't catch your answer," Ron said as he narrowed his eyes further in an alarmingly accurate impersonation of their mother.

"Oh, you didn't? How are your ears? There's this nasty thing going around than makes it hard for people to hear? Maybe - "

"Ginny, what are you playing at?"

"I'm not playing at anything," she remarked clearly affronted. "I was just showing a bit of concern for your hearing You really should have you ears checked because –"

"Yes, I know there's a thing going around. Things can be ever so dangerous. Stop avoiding the question."

"I am not avoiding –"

"Ginny…," he said warningly.

"Oh, fine. Terry."

Ron blinked. "Terry. Terry Bloody Boot."

Ginny raised and eyebrow. "I hadn't realized he had such an awful middle name."

"He's gay."

"And..."

"I'm looking for someone to match Inka up with so she'd get her talons out of Hermione, not someone to give her fashion tips," he spat.

"Iris, you twit, and no one else was available on such short notice. The next time you have such a brilliant idea you might want to clue the rest of us in a bit sooner. It was the best Harry could do. Besides, until we get to know her a bit better, we wouldn't have the faintest idea who to match her up with."

"A straight guy would be one hell of a start, don't you think," he snapped. " For the love of…Terry!"

"Oh, quit your whinging and be grateful," she snapped back. "Honestly, like Harry and I have nothing better to do then follow your insane orders."

"I'm insane? You're the one saying I should be grateful that you ruined my master plan? I think you're the one who's gone off the deep end," he sulked.

"Your master plan," she laughed. "You came up with this last night after Hermione mentioned that she may be going out with Iris tonight."

"Genius is never appreciated in its own time. I'm spontaneous and impulsive; it's what makes me so loveable," he informed her. "Some of us don't need loads of time to come up with master plans. "

"Apparently brains are also not necessary."

"If I'm so brainless, how come you and Harry were so quick to help?"

Ginny paused before she answered. In truth she was rather curious about Iris, but letting Ron know she was concerned would only fuel his already overactive imagination. Ron liked wild conspiracies; it probably came from too many nights sitting in front of the Muggle TV he and Harry were so fond of. He was probably thinking this girl was using Hermione for something, setting her up for something, when in reality the only problem was that was he not keen on sharing her time now that he finally had Hermione all to himself. In a way it was sweet, she supposed, but Ron could be painfully overprotective at times and, for Hermione's sake, Ginny better not voice any anxiety. "I'm merely keeping an eye on you, making sure you don't embarrass Hermione," she said at long last.

"Right," he said, clearly not believing her, but also not willing to argue with the person currently roasting sweet potatoes; they were his favorite, after all.

* * *

Ginny placed the bouquet of flowers in vase to be used as a centerpiece. It was a lovely arrangement of Ecuador Roses, purple and yellow Freesia, magenta Alstroemeria, and deep red Hypericum berries; Terry had made the arrangement himself. He was currently talking to Hermione, gushing at how lovely she looked in her new dress. Ron stood in the opposite corner, throwing searing looks at Harry who sat stiffly on the sofa, rapidly thumbing through the latest issue of Wizarding Times. Ginny had a sinking feeling this night was going to go down in a ball of flames so enormous it could be seen from outer space. With the exception of Terry, who thought everything was just fabulous, everyone else was tense. When the doorbell finally rang they all jumped.

Hermione excused herself and went to answer it while everyone tried to stand about as nonchalant as possible. Voices could be heard from the doorway; a high-pitched squeal was followed by low mumbling, and then, excessive giggling. After a few moments Hermione returned holding two bottles of wine tied with long green ribbons, and next to her, was probably the most beautiful girl Ginny had ever seen. She was dressed in a pale blue blouse with a plunging necking that plunged a tad more than necessary, black slacks that hugged her slender legs, and what looked like dragon hide boots. Her white blonde hair hung long and straight down her back. She had deep set stone-grey eyes and a rather disarming smile. Ginny suddenly wished she had time to touch up her make-up.

"Everyone, allow me to introduce Iris St. Janus. Iris this is-"

"Oh, allow me," Iris said as her smile broadened. "You're Ron Weasley. It's such a pleasure to finally meet you. Hermione says the most wonderful things about you." She held her hand out.

Ron, who had the most peculiar look on his face, slowly reached his own hand out and shook hers. "Iris. It's a pleasure to meet you, too."

Iris turned. "And you're his sister, Ginny. I understand I have you to thank for this evening's meal. Hermione says you're quite the cook. I look forward to the meal. If it tastes anything like it smells, it should be incredible."

Ginny shook her hand as well. "You're sweet for so saying so. Thank you," she said, taken aback by Iris's graciousness.

"Any you need no introduction, Mr. Potter. It is an honor to make your acquaintance." She flashed another brilliant smile.

"Just Harry, " he said as he shook her hand. "And it's nice to meet you too."

"And that leaves Mr. Boot. Hermione mentioned you'd be joining us."

"Terry, and it's my pleasure," he said with a small bow as he took her hand and kissed it. As he stood he eyed Iris much in the same way Ron was. "If you don't mind me saying so, I don't think this isn't our first meeting."

"I don't think we've ever met," she replied sweetly. "I'd remember someone as handsome as you."

"You are too kind."

"Dinner will be read in a few minutes," Ginny interrupted. "Can I get anyone a drink?"

"Oh, that reminds me," Hermione said with a start. "Iris brought some wine."

"Oh it's nothing." Iris waved dismissively. "Just a little something I thought you might enjoy."

Terry took one of the bottles form Hermione and his eyebrows shot up when he looked at the label. "Mouton Rothschild! Not quite so little."

"You've had some before?"

"I haven't had the pleasure. I know it by reputation. Red fruit predominate – red currant, cherry liqueur, bilberry – but it's the slightly floral notes of lily and violet together with fine vanilla that really make it special."

Ginny, trying to ignore the Avada Kedavra currently shooting out of Ron's eyes, took the bottle from Terry, who seemed reluctant to let it go. "It's sound delicious. We need some wine glasses."

"I'll get them," Harry offered.

"I'll help." Ron jumped after him.

Ginny eyed them suspiciously as they left the room. Ron was, by nature, a lazy bastard. His offering to fetch anything was as bad a sign as she could imagine. Ginny sighed, and pray to the gods that the evening won't be a total disaster.


	7. Dinner, Interrupted

**Chapter Seven – Dinner, Interrupted**

"Ron, I can handle this alone," Harry said with a smile as he gathered the glasses, knowing full well that Ron had something else on his mind.

"She does look familiar, doesn't she?" Ron said, his face screwed up in a manner that looked quite painful to Harry. "I mean, it was the first thing I thought when she walked in the room, ' I know her from somewhere.' She wasn't at Hogwarts, was she? She's about our age."

Harry thought about it for a moment. "I don't think so. Someone like that would be hard to miss roaming the halls. To tell you the truth she reminds me a bit of your last girlfriend -- Maria-what's her face."

"Maria Elena," Ron said pensively. "She does, doesn't she? Maybe that's why I feel like I know her?"

Harry smiled. "You're afraid you shagged her, aren't you?"

"What?"

"Oh, don't play innocent with me. You had quite a list going before you came to your senses and finally got together with Hermione."

Ron grimaced. "There weren't that many."

"Are you serious? There were four alone this year, five if you count Hermione, and it's only June."

"That's not many," Ron said dismissingly. "It just seems like a lot to you because you lived the life of a monk for so long."

"No Ron, it is a lot. And don't think I don't know about the girls you shagged between actual girlfriends."

"What? Are you keeping a score card?"

Harry continued to gather the glasses and, rather casually, said, "I did as a matter of fact."

Ron froze. "Did what?"

"Keep score."

"You're joking."

"No. Monkdom is very boring, and I needed something to keep me entertained." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small notebook.

"You carry it around with you!"

Harry grinned. "One never knows when one's best friend is going to need to be put in his proper place. Now, while I will admit you've only had eight official girlfriends, I think it should be noted that you didn't start officially dating anyone until about a year and a half ago. Before then there was a string of 'we had a couple of drinks and one thing led to another' girls,-- six, I think, in total. We also had four 'she liked chess and one thing led to another' girls, and eight 'she was a huge fan of the Cannons and one thing led to another' girls."

"Booze, chess, and the Cannons!" he exclaimed. "I'm only human."

Harry smiled sympathetically, already fully aware that booze, chess, and The Cannons were considered foreplay by Ron. Unperturbed, Harry continued t o share his annotations: "I saw you had a preference for blondes. It was an almost two to one ratio, which I found interesting since, of course, I knew where your heart belonged."

"Brunettes reminded me too much of Hermione."

"So, you looked for un-Hermione like girls?" Harry asked.

"Mostly."

"Does that mean dumb?"

"If I was lucky," he said with a shrug. "The dumb ones tend to be easier to get rid of. They get lost in crowds and are easily distracted by shiny things."

"You are such a romantic."

"I like to think so."

Harry looked back to his notes. "I found it odd that you never once dated a red head."

Ron shook his head vigorously. "Too much of a chance of us being related, mate. I couldn't risk the chance that she turned out to be along lost cousin; they have a habit of popping up at the most inopportune times. What's the point of this walk down memory lane, anyway?"

"No point really, other than just badgering you, of course, which needs no reason at all. I've been waiting for the right opportunity to spring this on you; monks lead excruciatingly dull lives, remember. Besides all that, however, I don't doubt that some small part of you is afraid you know this girl in an up-close and personal kind of way."

"No. Absolutely, unequivocally…probably….most likely not."

Harry said nothing but allowed Ron to wallow in his own misery – a pastime he found he rather liked once in a while; all that was missing was a tub of popcorn and a camera to preserve the moment for posterity.

As Harry's silence continued, Ron began to squirm. "Dammit, Harry, I know her; I just can't place it. But I have a feeling once I figure it out I'm not going to be too pleased about the whole thing."

"Relax, Casanova. If it's any consolation I don't think you shagged her. I've kept very good records and she doesn't seem to fit any of the descriptions."

"Records? What did you keep records of?"

"The basics: height, weight, hair color, eye color, proportions-"

"Proportions? Is that a nice way to say boobs and bum?"

"Pretty much. Do I have to mention the monk stuff again?" Ron shot him a rather dirty look. "I also kept track of were you met, how long the relationship lasted, and why you dumped her."

"You kept a record of all that? It's really pathetic, you know."

"Yes, I know, which is why it never leaves this room unless you want me to show it to Hermione. I think she'd rather like my rating system."

"Rating system?"

"One star if you considered a memory charm to forget the evening, two stars if you remembered her actual name, three stare if you stayed the night, and four stars if you used Quidditch terminology to describe your night together."

Ron was visibly impressed. "Anyone go over four stars?"

"Just one. Evelyn Bronheimer."

"Evelyn? The Rockshire Rocket back-up Seeker and part-time exotic dancer?"

Harry smiled dreamily and was about to say something when a rather annoyed looking red head entered the room in a huff. "What the blazes are you two doing in here? How difficult it is to get a few glasses." She grabbed the tray of glasses Harry had collected and stormed out. The pointed look she gave him before she left told Harry they were going to have one of those 'lots of talking and little else' nights. Merlin, he hated those.

They followed her out, Harry smiling sheepishly to Hermione, who was too busy glaring at Ron to notice. Iris, seeing Hermione's reaction, or more likely feeling the burn from the death rays blaring out of her eyes, smiled understandingly at Harry. It was as if she knew they were talking about her, as if she was used to that sort of thing happening to her.

Fifteen minutes, and five bottles of wine later wine later, the six were seated around the table eating and talking. Iris was an excellent conversationalist, talking about sports and theater with the same comfortable ease. Hermione beamed proudly every time someone laughed at Iris's joke or complimented her on some point she made. Harry tried to interject as often as he could, trying to keep everything light and also trying to steer attention away from Ron, who kept staring at Iris with a stalker-esque glower.

"…and then I said, 'Oh sorry I suppose that is a wand in your pocket.'" The room exploded in laughter at Iris's story. Amidst all the mirth Ron's voice shot out, cutting through the din. "Malfoy!"

Ginny froze and turned to him. "What?"

"Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. That's who Iris reminds me of. It's been making me crazy all night and now I see you have the same coloring and similar features. You even seem to carry yourself the same way."

It was as if a spotlight had been turned on and it was shining solely on Iris. Everyone turned to face her, examining her like she was the latest exhibit at a Muggle Zoo (that would a zoo for Muggles, not of Muggles, but either works in this analogy).

The room fell stone silent. Hermione had gone a bit yellow.

"Draco. Of course," Terry exclaimed. "I don't know why I didn't see it before; the resemblance is quite astounding."

"It should be," Iris continued, "Draco is my cousin."

The silence that previously ensconced the room now gave way to a more acute stillness.

"Your cousin!" Hermione shouted. "You never said anything about that."

"You didn't ask," Iris replied with a smile. "I didn't think it made a difference. I have several cousins."

"It's just…it's just that we…we've known Draco for a long time and ….well, it wasn't always the most pleasant of …relationships." Ginny tried as best she could to explain that Draco was not popular among the occupants of the table."

"Is that because he was an arse when you where in school together?" Iris asked.

The silence became more silent.

Iris laughed. "It's all right. I know all about it. Draco was a royal pain. Terribly spoiled and just rotten to the core. I hated him too."

"What?" was said by just about everyone in the room.

Iris laughed louder, covering her mouth with her hands to restrain the giggles. "Oh, the look on your faces. Priceless!"

"Are you having us on?" Ron asked, as a recurring victim of the twin's experimentation Ron was genuinely nervous.

"I'm sorry for laughing, it's just that I know how Draco used to be, so I can completely understand your reaction."

"What do you mean how he used to be?"

"Oh, you haven't seem him in years, have you?" She paused to wipe a tear from her eyes. "Well it's sad story, really. He's changed quite a bit since his father died. His mother had gone off the deep end a long time ago and Draco…well, he hasn't been the same."

"I didn't realize his mother was gone," Ginny said sorrowfully.

"Yes, she abandoned him and vanished without a trace."

"I thought I heard she was in America selling beauty supplies to Muggles on something called The Home Shopping Network," Ron asked.

"Rumors are a vicious thing, Ron," is all Iris said, as she looked down and slowly shook her head.

Hermione glared furiously at Ron, and Harry was pleased that he wouldn't be the only one not getting any that night.

"Anyway," Iris continued, "with his fortune and his family both gone, Draco got a job at the Ministry and recently got promoted to the position of Deputy Minster of Foreign Affairs."

"Sounds like he goes to parties and sleeps with exotic women," Ron snorted. Hermione nearly went cross-eyed and Harry knew at that moment that Ron might never have sex again.

Iris laughed. "I'm sure he does, Ron. I hope so, actually, because between his job and his work with the orphans-"

"Orphans?" Ginny asked.

"Oh, damn my mouth. I wasn't supposed to say anything. Please forget I mentioned it."

"You can't just throw around words like 'Draco' and 'orphans' and not give us more details. I mean unless the words: eats, kills, maims, or disembowels, are between them."

Iris looked as if she was battling with her desire to keep a secret and to clear Draco's sullied reputation. "Oh," she said, finally relenting. "Draco is helping children left orphaned after the wars. He does it anonymously because he knows his name has some notoriety attached to it and he doesn't want that to take away from the work he is trying to do."

Ron, who was completely incapable of shutting up, continued: "I would think he'd want to get his name out there in order to help his reputation."

"His reputation doesn't matter to him. In fact he sometimes uses a glamour when he volunteers."

"Volunteers?"

"Oh, yes. He's always volunteering somewhere or another. St. Mungo's children's ward. Bundimum Center for Abused Animals. The Squib Foundation. I don't know when he finds the time to do it all."

"Are you sure we are talking about the same Draco Malfoy?"

"Pretty sure. You did say he looks just like me, didn't you?" She flashed another brilliant smile.

"I'm sorry. I'm just having a really hard time believing all this." Ron

"I understand. It must be hard to imagine. After all, you only remember the boy who went to school with you, but I can assure you that the man is quite different. He's…well…he's one of a kind," Iris said sweetly.


	8. The Reluctant Bridesmaid

**Chapter Eight – The Reluctant Bridesmaid**

The night had wound down and, despite its rather atrocious beginning and its dramatic middle, it ended pleasantly. Ron had to admit he understood how someone like Iris could captivate someone like Hermione. Iris was like Hermione in many ways: well read, articulate, and intelligent. And she had a love of books that Ron considered nearly obscene or as obscene as Hermione's. He briefly wondered if Iris kept a veritable library under her pillow as well, or if he stroked the spines with the same odd look on her face.

But it was in the ways they differed that Ron saw the allure. Iris was beautiful and stylish, very feminine, and Hermione seemed to enjoy exploring that part of herself. She never really had the chance before—winning a war left so little time for other things. While he always thought Hermione was the most beautiful girl he had ever known, he understood that girls saw themselves, and each other, differently. Hermione was never one to spend hours fixing her hair or coloring her face or buying trendy clothes, but that didn't mean that she didn't want to, only that she had had too much else to deal with. Too many other things mattered more to her.

Things were different now. The war was a distant memory; it was the stuff of history texts and bedtime stories. They were older now with lives to live, lives that were normal, or nearly as normal as they could be. With a wedding pending a female perspective was just what Hermione needed. Iris had this way of making anyone she talked to seem like they were the only person on earth, and Ron figured that Hermione needed that at this point in her life. She had always done things for others and it was time to do things for herself.

It wasn't a perfect relationship, he admitted. Iris seemed to have more influence over Hermione than he felt comfortable with. And he wasn't pleased with how much time they spent together but Ron wanted to see Hermione happy. If Iris could make this wedding everything Hermione wanted, then he would step back and give them the room to do it.

There was something else on his mind, however. He was bothered by the fact that Iris had Malfoy blood running through her veins. It was difficult for him to believe anything good about anyone who was even remotely related to a Malfoy; a thousand years of inbreeding was a dangerous thing. But Iris was, for lack of a better word, delightful, and he really had no right to cast aspersions on her when the truth of it was he simply missed the old, the familiar, Hermione.

He was fortunate in that Hermione seemed to have forgiven his earlier discretions and there wasn't nearly as much talking as he feared that night. Sadly, she hadn't completely forgotten because there was little else.

The next morning, Ron was awakened at an ungodly hour by the pecking of an owl at his window. Hermione was out, helping Ginny pick furniture--dinette sets or some other such nonsense. He had hoped to have a long and well-deserved lie-in. Instead, a jittery owl was trying to break through his window. Ron cursed his best friend for being a lazy, no-good sod and not being with his girlfriend to pick the furniture for their home. His finance, Hermione, could be in bed with him, and she could be the one to go the window and shut that effing bird up.

It should be said here that Ron was not much of a morning person.

He groggily got out of bed and lumbered over to the window. He retrieved the message and slammed the window shut. The owl, who was not pleased to be so roughly treated, pecked at the window again and flicked his wing at Ron. Ron, who could barely read the small writing on the note, couldn't have cared less that a bird just told him to stuff it.

As his eyes began to focus, the neat and looping handwriting became clearer and clearer:

_Ron, _

_Please meet me at Mugwump's Café in one hour. I have something very important to discuss with you. Please don't tell Hermione._

_Iris_

_Aha!_ Ron thought triumphantly. _Here it comes._

He knew she couldn't be trusted, the manipulating harpy. He knew it all along. She didn't fool him for one second. Not one. She was tainted by Malfoy blood and now she was going to show her true colors.

Ron's blood began to boil. If this trollop was going to try to do anything that might hurt Hermione he'd……he'd… he'd do something really mean back. Ron was still very sleepy and far too tired to think of something truly heinous. Luckily, he was about to go and get an invigorating cup of coffee; coffee was always a good prelude to plotting malicious revenge.

Ron wore black to the café as it seemed like a menacing color and he looked rather good it in which always helped. Disarm the harlot with his boyish good looks and then plot his plot (look, it's still early and he still didn't have his morning coffee).

Iris was seated at a corner table, sipping a latte, reading the _Daily Prophet_, and turning the heads of everyone in the room. Ron quietly strode over to the table, his back straight and his shoulders squared. "Iris," he said plainly, standing tall and asserting his man-ness.

"Ron, thank you for coming. Have a seat." With a gentle toss of her hair, the shimmering tresses fell perfectly around her face. Ron was surer than ever of her innate evilness – no normal human can look that good this early in the morning. She had to have a pact with a demon for those kinds of results.

"I will," he said firmly, waited for twenty seconds and then sat, so as to show her he was his own boss and would sit when he was good and ready.

"Black is a great color on you," she said with an appraising smile. "You're going to look so handsome in your wedding dress robes.

"Yes," he said, his former revolve ebbing slightly. _Plying him with compliments and smiling like that. Oh, she was good._

"Let me get the waiter." She lifted her forefinger in the air and in under three seconds two waiters, a busboy, and a man from a neighboring table ran to their side. "My friend would like a cup of…coffee?" she said, looking inquiringly at Ron.

"Yes, with cream and sugar, please." He mentally slapped himself for not having a more manly 'just black' coffee and for being polite while answering her. _Focus, Ron. Focus._

"Yes, the Sumatra blend, please," Iris added with a wink to one of the waiters. "Any why not bring us a few muffins and coffee rolls, and one of those lovely lemon squares."

She was plying his with cakes. Ron narrowed his eyes. _She was very good. _He must remain strong for Hermione, even in the face of pastry.

"Ron, I'm so glad you came," she said once the crowd around the table had cleared. "I really need your help with something."

"My…help?" He leaned in; this was where her evil Malfoy-ness would reveal itself. He hoped the coffee would come quickly as he needed it for his plotting.

Iris gave a nervous smile, which he might have said was rather endearing had he not known she was actually a cold, calculating Malfoy-blood carrying harpy in chic clothing.

"I want to give Hermione a bridal shower and I need your help in planning it."

"A bridal shower?" It was more hideous than he could have ever imagined. She was planning on dousing Hermione with soapy water. Ron restrained himself from picturing Hermione and Iris in a shower, soaping each other up.

"It's a Muggle-thing. Prior to the wedding, the bride is given a special party where her family and friends buy her gifts for the home and such."

"Oh." Oddly, he was disappointed. The dousing thing sounded like more fun. He would file the image of Hermione and Iris in a shower, soaping each other up for use later that evening.

"It's a very lovely tradition, really, and I'd like to throw one for Hermione but I can't do it alone."

Oh, hell no. "It sounds like a girly thing, why not ask Ginny?"

Iris smiled that nervous smile again. "I had thought of that and I would like her help later on, but Hermione told me of Ginny's own wedding debacle after that horrid Colin fellow called off their wedding and, well, I thought it might be hard for her to do something like this. I mean, I wouldn't want to bring up bad memories for the poor girl, not as she's trying to begin her new life with Harry."

Ron felt like a heel. "I suppose you're right. What about Terry? He may technically be a male, but he can accessorize."

"I'm sure he'd be wonderful but I need someone closer to Hermione in order to get all those personal touches that make these things special. Besides, I think Hermione would love to know that you helped in planning something like this. I'm sure she'd show her appreciation in many ways."

"Appreciation?" Ron liked the sound of that.

"Of course. Can't you picture how she would feel, knowing you went through all this trouble for her? I can only imagine how she could show her gratitude."

Ron once again thought of Hermione and Iris in a shower, soaping each other up.

"A girl gets married only once, Ron," Iris continued. "Don't you want to make this special for her?"

"Of course."

"And don't you think that Hermione would want to show you how special it made her feel? She'd be reminded of your efforts every time she dried off in one of the new towels she got as a gift, or when she made dinner and used her new appliances, or drank from one of her new glasses."

"She would like it, wouldn't she?" he said with a wistful smile.

"Ron," she whispered as she leaned in. "One of the most popular gifts at bridal showers is lingerie."

Sold! "I'll do it. I mean…anything for Hermione, right."

"Of course," Iris said with a smile. "Anything for Hermione."

"What do I have to do?"

"There's a lot to do I'm afraid. We have to find a location for the party, make arrangements, guest lists. The real problem is keeping everything a surprise. We don't want Hermione to find out."

"We don't? But how would she show her gratitude?"

"It has to be a surprise," Iris insisted. "It's the best part of the whole thing. She doesn't expect anything at all so she'll be that much more surprised. You can't tell her what you're up to or else it will be ruined."

"So I have to lie to her?" Ron asked, suddenly not so sure about this idea, despite the promise of lingerie.

"It's not lying, Ron. Not when we're doing something so marvelous for her. Don't you want to see the look on her face when she sees everything we've been up to?"

"She'll be really happy, won't she?" he said as his coffee finally arrived along with a small platter full of the most delicious pastries Ron had ever seen. "And surprises are always more fun, right?"

"Surprises are the best, Ron," Iris said with a small grin. "She'll never know what hit her."


	9. Modifications, Complications, and

Chapter Nine – Modifications, Complications, and other Quandaries 

Draco Malfoy was pacing his flat, wearing a trench in his ridiculously expensive Persian carpet.

She had better have a damn good reason for not checking in. Last night was the big night. The night she would be introduced to the rest of the group. She was supposed to go to dinner at Potter's last night and report first thing this morning, but he hadn't been able to reach her all day. It was completely irresponsible and inconsiderate. Thoughtless and reckless. In short, it was exactly what he would do, which angered him more.

"Honey, I'm home," called a sugary voice from the hall.

He stormed through the house, his hands balling into tighter and tighter fists with each step, until they were face to face. "Don't honey me!" he snapped. "Where the hell have you been all day?"

Unperturbed by Draco's rage, Iris smiled sweetly. "I've been with dear Ronald."

This was not the answer he was expecting. "Ronald? Weasley?"

"The one and only." She removed her coat and hung it on the coat rack. Paying no attention to Draco's glare, she walked into the sitting room and fell back onto the settee, leaning back and nestling into the pile of accent pillows.

Draco stalked after her. Her flippant attitude grated on his nerves like nails on a blackboard not to mention that she was sitting in his favorite chair and messing up his pillows which were very strategically situated. He calmed himself enough to ask, "And why were you with Weasley?"

She arched her back and pulled out one pillow which seemed to be annoying her delicate sensibilities and threw it on the floor beside her. "There's been a change of plan."

Draco's hair nearly stood on end. He wondered briefly if he was this annoying, and if so, how he went so long without being hexed on a daily basis. Or, at least, slapped vigorously. "A change of plan? What are you talking about? The plan is brilliant. The plan is perfect. The plan is …planned. There will be no alterations to the plan."

"I'm afraid there has to be."

"What? Why?"

She sighed dramatically and waved her gestured for Draco to get her a drink. It was a move Draco have perfected over the years and he nearly hexed himself when he found himself at the bar pouring her a drink.

"As soon as I walked in, they saw the resemblance. No hiding it, really. I'm truly surprised Hermione hadn't said something sooner. No matter. They saw I looked like you and they didn't seem to pleased about it."

"Who outed you?" he asked as he poured some wine.

"Ron finally made the connection."

Draco snorted loudly and began to mumble, "And yet another reason to hate the oaf. Goes and ruins a good plan. A great plan. A perfect plan. Since when did he notice anything beyond that frizzy-haired Mud-"

"I had to make some quick decisions in order to save us."

Draco looked up, took a deep breath, picked up the overflowing glass of wine, drank it all in one swallow and asked, "What kind of decisions?"

"I had to introduce the cousin angle. And where's my drink. Really it's at least two degrees too warm in here. I'm melting in this oppression."

He poured her a glass of chilled Pinot Grigio and handed it to her. "You introduced the cousin angle already?"

"I'm afraid so," she said with a little pout as she sniffed at her glass. "I'm also afraid it means that you have to do some legwork."

"Legwork?" _That sounded painful._ "What are you taking about?"

"I told them you worked with displaced orphans."

The wine he gulped down nearly made an uninvited reappearance. "Orphans? You mean children? Why would I do a thing like that?"

"I needed to make you more palatable, and quickly, which wasn't easy to do considering your reputation as a first rate bastard. People like people who do nice things for orphans; it's a selfless act and shows you to be kind and thoughtful. Your little Weaslette's face lit up as soon as I mentioned it, so I suggest you forge some documents and make nice with the people in charge of the little brats."

_She liked it, did she? _"Fine. What else?"

"I told them you volunteered."

"Volunteered? What's that?"

"That's when you give of your time to help those less fortunate than you."

Draco stared blankly.

"Charity work."

Draco still said anything.

"When you do nice things for others for free."

_Was she trying to make him retch_? "You're joking. They bought that?"

"No, I don't think so, which is why you're going to have to do some legwork. Altering a few memories, faking photographs, letters--things like that."

"And you think this is going to work?" he asked incredulously. "What were you drinking last night?"

"Mouton Rothschild."

"Mouton Rothschild? My Mouton Rothschild!" He was going to kill her or at least the half of her that wasn't part of him. "Do you have any idea what that was worth?"

"Of course I do. Why do you think I brought it? That Terry fellow nearly wet himself when he saw the bottle."

"Terry? Terry who? Terry Boot?"

"Yes."

"What the hell was he doing there?"

She shrugged. "I can only assume they brought him there to set him up with me?"

"Set him up with you? He's gay. And not a little gay, either. Very gay. Out of the closet and singing-show-tunes gay."

"That was obvious. It was a desperate move and showed me that they were willing to go to any lengths to separate me from Hermione. They are not a terribly trusting lot and I had to endear myself."

"And how did you manage that?"

"By telling them that you were a prick bastard."

"Come again?"

There was that painfully saccharine smile again. "They don't like you and I had to show that I understood, you being a spoiled prick bastard and all."

His smile twisted. "Prick bastard came up several times in the conversation, I gather."

"It's practically your nickname."

Of course. "And how is this going to get me in their circle? "

"They are intrigued by the new you."

"The new me? Would that be the orphan-loving charitable-work doing me?"

"I'm afraid so."

"The first plan was better," he scowled, not at all pleased with the idea that he would have to play nice.

"Well, the first plan is gone, so we have to improvise."

Damn, she was annoying. It had to the Marie Elena half; he couldn't possible be this insufferable. "Why were you with Weasley today?"

"Part of the new plan. I've talked him into helping me throw Hermione a party."

"A party? Why are we throwing her a party."

"In celebration of their glorious nuptials."

The very idea of those two married and copulating made the wine in his stomach churn and boil. Oh Good Lord, they'd probably start breeding as well. "And how is this supposed to help us?"

She sipped quietly at her wine, making him wait before she answered. Her glass was half empty before she grinned in a none too pleasing way and said, quite simply, "It gets me alone with him."

Draco's smile coiled around itself. "Brilliant!"

"I thought so."

Draco was starting on his legwork, the first phase was finding out where those bloody orphans were corralled. He didn't know if they were kept in cages or just watched by rabid dogs or what. He was surprised to find out they had entire institutions whose sole purpose was to protect the little urchins. How positively plebian. Waste of perfectly good cheap labor, really.

He arranged meetings with heads of several charitable (honestly, he couldn't even say the word without laughing) agencies. There were documents to forge, photos to doctor, and a paper trail to leave: he didn't even work this hard at his job. Then again, this would lead to a much nicer pay off.

After working for six hours –a record for him - Draco went to his bedroom to retire. He passed Iris's room which used to be his private meditation room (there had better be a really nice pay off), when he picked up on the scent of a rather expensive perfume it the air. He took a deep breath - Clive Chimeras' No.1. _What was the little minx up to?_

"And where are you going all done up like a Knockturn Alley trollop?"

She gave him a small smile. "I'm meeting Hermione for drinks."

He arched an eyebrow. "Just Hermione?"

"Perhaps," she said innocuously.

Draco watched her get ready, watched her carefully line her lips before applying lipstick and then lip gloss on top of it. She daintily smoothed out her already perfect hair and brushed the lightest bit of color to her fair cheeks. She was up to something; Draco's monster had a plan of her own. "You like him, don't you?"

"Who? Weasley? I suppose I do." She didn't bother to look up as she spoke.

"That's disgusting," he grimaced. For the second time that day he had thought of Weasley copulating. Any more of those and he'd end up in a special ward of St. Mungos.

Iris laughed coldly. "Why do you seem so surprised? Think about how I was created. You want the girl, so you obviously like the features: fiery red hair, pallid skin colored by those delightful freckles. The part of me that's you like them too. Ron has the added benefit of broad shoulders, strong thighs and big hands."

"She's got some pretty nice thighs, herself," he said defensively. "And I prefer small hands."

"Considering how fine boned you are, I would say that's a good idea." Draco was left with the distinct impression that his manliness was insulted. He looked done at his hand, his masculine hands, and thought idly that he needed a manicure.

Iris was fixing her jewelry as she continued speaking, "The other part of me, the greater part, is the soul of his ex-girlfriend; a former lover who is still hung up on him and who has some pretty stellar memories of several nights worth of wanton sex."

"Wanton?" Draco nearly choked just saying it.

"He seems the wanton type," she said with a leer.

"You do like him," he said exasperatedly. And yet another change in his magnificent plan.

Iris turned to him and raised a newly plucked eyebrow. "My time on this plane is limited, Draco, and I plan to make the most of every minute I've already wasted too much time. You want the girl for your own nefarious reasons, and your partner in this endeavor wants to see Ron and Hermione suffer. I am bound by my very creation to see that both those goals are accomplished. And if I can achieve all of that, and manage to have a bit of fun in the process, then I'm going to."

"You are selfish, heartless, and pure evil," he said shaking his head.

Iris continued to smile. "You're still surprised?"

"No, I'm just so proud," he said getting choked up. "I think I might cry."

**

* * *

Author's note: I'm sorry for the long delays between posting chapters. Real life blah blah, blah. You know the story. This fic will be on hiatus until after the release of HBP. I want to thank everyone who has read and reviewed. It has meant the world to me.**


	10. The Owl Has Left the Building

Er…hi there. shuffles feet Remember me? No? Think really hard. A little harder. Stop. Too hard - You'll hurt yourself. Just go to chapter one and start again. That's what I had to do.

Many thanks to Abigail for her invaluable help.

**Chapter Ten** **- The Owl Has Left the Building.**

"Of course, the position was rightfully mine. I was every bit the Seeker you were." A ladleful of scrambled eggs crashed against a plate.

"What?" A piece of toast was ruthlessly buttered. It cracked under the pressure.

"What do mean 'what'? We both won a Quidditch cup and I did it with two rookies on my squad, not to mention Ron as Seeker." A plate full of bacon dropped atop the table, scattering crispy strips across the table. "No offence, Ron."

"None taken." Ron reached over and picked up the fallen bacon.

"You're joking, right?" Harry dumped a spoonful of sugar into a cup and began a vigorous stir that formed a small whirlpool.

"Do I look like I'm joking, you twit? And let me remind you that I did it my first year on the team, not my third." A plateful of sausages was picked up.

"There were extenuating circumstances!" The same plateful of sausages was grabbed for.

"Oh, there's always bloody circumstances with you, isn't there? Your name should be Harry "I don't know how that happened" Potter. You should just be grateful I gave up the position for you." A tug of war began over the plateful of sausages.

Ron sat quietly across the table as Harry and Ginny replayed the same argument they've been having since his sixth year at Hogwarts. He used to interject but he came to think of it as some form of twisted foreplay between the two of them and, frankly, he wanted no part of that. Instead he began to liberally pour ketchup over Harry's bacon and eggs; considering the current topic of conversation, Harry wouldn't be eating them so he might as well help himself. He hoped secretly that they would spill the sausages so he could grab a couple. They looked particularly good this morning.

"What do you mean you gave up the position for me!" There went the sausages. Huzzah! Ron was able to save three from falling to the ground.

This was getting good. It was one of their better arguments. First of all, there was a full breakfast, which, as far as Ron was concerned, improved any situation. Harry was bearing teeth and his glasses were askew, Ginny's nostrils were flaring and the vein in her forehead was throbbing in tune to "Oh Britannia", all the signs of a truly spectacular row. Oh, how he loved spectacular rows, especially those that didn't involve him getting into trouble with Hermione. Normally Ron would have settled for some buttered popcorn and a golden ale but as none was available, Ron reached for Ginny's plate. His progress was hindered by a fork that came crashing down next to his hand and stabbed the table, piercing the wood.

"Touch my breakfast and next time my fork will hit its target," Ginny snarled. We've moved from "Oh Britannia" to The Wyrd Sisters' "I'll Make You Pray for a Slow Bloody Death" – this was not a good sign.

Time for a distraction. "Don't get snippy with my just because your boyfriend thinks you're rubbish as a Keeper," Ron said holding his hands up in surrender.

"Oh, does he now?" She turned two rage filled eyes towards said boyfriend.

"I never said that!"

"Well, what did you say then?"

As the argument continued Ron helped himself to Ginny's toast; it was just going to get cold, after all. He also gabbed several more sausages off the tabletop; they were doing no one any good there.

His mother always told him not to waste food.

Ron was about to add sugar to her tea (she likes it plain but she wasn't drinking it this morning, and it was a shame to let it go cold) when an owl flew through the open window and headed straight for him.

The bird was pure white, like Hedwig, but with silver tipped wings and a pair of glittery eyes that blinked sharply. Ron grabbed the lilac colored parchment and untied the violet ribbon that was wrapped around it. After he gave the bird the rest of Ginny's toast, Ron briefly scanning the contents. He put the note in his pocket and gave the bird a bit of sausage. The owl nipped affectionately at his fingers and flew out the window. Ron proceeded to grab the rest of Ginny's bacon and leave the table.

"Well?" Ginny asked, momentarily forgetting her argument with Harry, for which Harry was rather annoyed. He would most probably not be able to whip Ginny up into such a lather again thus thwarting his chances at truly exceptional make-up sex. He made a mental note to flog Ron at a later date.

"Well, what?" Ron replied while bits of bacon disappeared into his mouth.

Ginny's nostrils began to flare again and Harry hoped all hope was not lost. He quickly began together some food before the whole table went flying against the wall – he needed to keep his strength up. "Are you going to tell us what that was all about?" she asked Ron.

"All what?" Half a piece of bacon was hanging out of his mouth.

There went the vein again. Harry silently cheered Ron on. "What do you mean all what?" she snarled. "Have you lost your mind? Whose ruddy owl was that?

"A friend," he said with a shrug as he pulled a jumper over his head.

She scoffed. "You have no friends."

He scoffed back. "I do so have friends."

She scoffed twice and huffed once for good measure. "None that would have such a poncy bird."

He refused to scoff – he was better than that. "Well, you're wrong as it is obvious that I do have at least one poncy bird owning friend. Why are you so interested all of a sudden?"

"All of a sudden? When have I not been interested? You make it sound as if I don't care."

He laughed (which is technically not a scoff). "You don't care. You're just too nosy for your own good. Well, it just so happens that I'm allowed friends, even friends with poncy birds. I am also allowed to meet these friends without your approval. Imagine that? Now if you don't mind, I have to go."

"Where?" she called out after him.

He just sighed and walked out the door.

"Thanks for your input, Harry," she said as she slapped his shoulder.

"What are you hitting me for? I'm not the one who told you to stuff it. To take your big nose out of other's people's business. To stop nagging and nitpicking and-"

"Are you through?"

He stared the vein on her forehead and her ever-expanding nostrils. "I suppose I'd better be."

"Look, I've seen that bird all week long and Ron's never mentioned anything about it. Don't you find that odd?"

Harry just shrugged as he picked up a piece of soggy toast. "There's a lot about Ron I find odd but getting notes from owls and going out to meet friends is not very high on the list." He put the toast down as it was too soggy for human consumption…and he thinks he saw and owl's foot print in the butter. "He's right, you realize. He's allowed to have friends besides us and to meet these friends. We are neither his parents nor his conscience. He is an adult and can take care of himself. Right now I think you're the one that's being odd with all the--"

Ginny put a hand up to his mouth stopping him from speaking further. "I'm going to save you from making a fool of yourself later on, Harry, when we discover what is really going on and it will prove that I am an incredibly intuitive and caring individual and you are a stupendous arse who couldn't see when his best friend was in trouble. This isn't about his having friends as much as it is about his having secrets and Ron isn't the type to keep secrets. Not from us."

Harry tried to talk but she pinched his lips together. "I am going to further show my generosity and save you from a lifetime of celibacy -- don't say anther word and piss me off any more than I am right now." She got up to leave.

"And where are you going?" he asked ask he stretched his previously pinched lips back to their normal shape. "That hurt by the way."

"It was meant to," she replied with a broad smile. "As for where I'm going, it's none of your concern. I believe I too am allowed to go somewhere without anyone's approval."

Harry shook his head. "You're going to follow him, aren't you?"

"I'm doing no such thing. It seems like a nice day for a walk so I'm walking. I could do with a bit of exercise and fresh air -- so could you now that I mention it, you're getting a bit thick in the middle—and if while on this walk I happen to run into a family member, then so be it." Before he left she took his breakfast and dumped it on the floor.

She stormed out of the room leaving Harry to poke at his waistline and stare his empty breakfast dish.

* * *

Ginny didn't like what was going on. She could handle the changes in Hermione. The clothes, the hair, the painted nails, it was all just window dressing. Hermione was who she always was only with a designer label. This, whatever it was, going on with Ron was different. For all of Ginny's life, Ron was there as her closest brother, zealous protector, and friend. They had no secrets, not like this. Ron was hiding something, and it the very idea of it left Ginny cold.

He was going out at all hours and not telling anyone anything about where he was going or who he was with. It wasn't like him. Usually he didn't shut up. Hermione was too busy with wedding plans to really notice; Iris had her running all over England to do the most ridiculous things: going to greenhouses looking for exotic flowers, looking up ancient bonding rituals in musty old libraries, learning to speak Greek for their upcoming honeymoon. Harry also didn't notice. He'd been pre-occupied with his own issues now more than ever; issues he wasn't sharing with her at the moment, or ever if she were really honest with herself. But Ron was a constant. Something was disrupting that constant, and she would find out what.

She had followed him to a flower shop, a lingerie boutique, and a candy store where he bought a ridiculous amount of chocolate. Her stomach eased up a bit in relief, as she realized he must have been getting things for Hermione. Of course, they had a wedding coming up. The notes all probably had to do with that. He could have been ordering things or checking up on dates. The notes could have been from Hermione for all she knew.

He may have been working on a special surprise for Hermione. Ron liked doing things like that. Suddenly Ginny began to chastise herself for her ridiculous suspicions. This was Ron, her brother, protector, friend. Ron who was madly in love with Hermione, devoted to her since he was eleven (save a few unfortunate incidents with various floozies she was never allowed to refer to in front of Hermione). Ginny suddenly felt foolish forever doubting him.

She was going to catch up to him and apologize for both her outburst that morning and her misgivings that afternoon. Ron deserved better than her unfounded qualms and unnecessary temper tantrum – Lord, he would never let her forget this one. He had turned down the street and disappeared behind a corner. She was on his heels when suddenly, she hit a small brick wall, or something else very much intent upon hindering her movements, and she found herself sitting on rough pavement.

"I'm so sorry," said a strangely familiar voice. "Are you alright?"

She started brushing dirt and dust and whatever else was that dingy concrete. "I'm fine, really. It's my fault I –"

"Ginevra. Ginevra Weasley, is that you?"

Ginny remained on the ground, stunned and unable to move, staring up at the face of Draco Malfoy.


	11. The Trouble with Blondes

Many thanks to Abigail for her continued support. love on her

**Chapter 11 –** **The Trouble with Blondes**

"Malfoy!" she gasped.

He smiled softly. "Now that I missed. Only a Weasley can say my name with that perfect balance of revulsion and odium. It's a gift really." He held out his hand. "Can I help you up?"

She recoiled as he came within inches of her skin. "I don't need help thank you." She stood up, albeit awkwardly, only to find that she had twisted her ankle, and badly at that. She cursed like a sailor on shore leave as she stumbled forward and fell right into Draco open arms.

"Perhaps, just a little help?" he asked, his smile broadening.

"Oh piss off!" she snarled as she gathered the bit of dignity that remained and began to hobble down the street. She only made it a few steps before she fell over again.

Draco rushed to her side. "I understand the liberated modern witch routine," he began and he swept her up and cradled her like a groom taking his bride across the threshold. "But really this is ridiculous. You're hurt and there's no reason you should go and aggravate the situation just because you won't allow me to help you.."

She squirmed violently in his surprisingly comfortable arms. "What in blazes are you doing? Put me down this instant."

He tightened his grasp. "I'm not kidnapping you, I'm only carrying you as far that café where we will sit while your ankle has a chance to rest."

Said ankle was throbbing madly so Ginny had resigned herself to the fact that she was about to have tea with Draco Malfoy. "All right but for the record I want it stated that I'm going along with this under protest. Were I not in an egregious amount of pain I'd have stomped off in a rather dramatic fashion."

"Dually noted." He carried her into the restaurant gently placed her in a plush chair by a corner table and went off. He returned a minute later with another chair with a pillowed seat on which he carefully placed Ginny's injured foot. "I've asked the waiter to bring over some ice for your foot."

Ginny was about to tell him that she was a trained medi-witch and that she could fix up her ankle with one flick of her wand but she hesitated. Iris's tales of do-gooder Draco had piqued her interest. She wanted to find out for herself about the so called altruism of Draco Malfoy and if she could get some information on Iris as well then this little detour would be well worth it.

"So what were doing today before we ran into each other?" Draco flashed her a rather impish smile. She couldn't help but smile back.

"Oh, nothing really. Some window-shopping. What about you? I thought you only shopped in the trendier part of town."

"Who me?" he said with a small laugh. "Not so much these days. My days of extravagance are along over. Haven't you heard, I'm a working man now."

She scoffed in what she hoped was a derisive manner. "I heard you have a cushy Ministry job."

"No job at the Ministry is cushy anymore, especially for someone with my lineage."

He gave a pointed look and she suddenly felt guilty. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply anything. "

Draco shook his head. "I take no offence. Considering our colorful personal history, and a three hundred year old feud between the noble houses of Malfoy and Weasley, I don't blame you for thinking so little of me."

"I don't think little of you." She adjusted herself on her seat. "Frankly, I don't think of you at all."

"Not even a little?" he said leaning forward. His grey eyes flashed and she swallowed hard. It suddenly got very hot.

"I suppose it's not completely true. Your name has come up lately. You have a cousin named Iris right? " Ginny asked not quite knowing how else to slip it into their conversation and this was as good a time as any.

"I do," he said with a bit of surprise. "How did you know?"

"She's been and Hermione have been friends for a few months now. She mentioned a while back that you two were related." Ginny studied Draco closely for any sign that she might report to Harry later as further proof that something sinister was afoot.

"Granger and Iris?" His eyes went wide. "Really?" He sat back in his chair and seemed to let that information sink in. "I shouldn't be surprised, I suppose. Iris was always as much of a bookworm as Granger. When we were younger she'd always wander off somewhere to sneak in some reading time. The rest of us would be planning world domination and she'd have her nose buried in a book - as you can imagine she was someone what of a black sheep in the family. I bet they bet in a library."

"Close. A bookstore. They hit it off right away." Ginny continued to look at him very closely. "I'm surprised she didn't tell you."

He shrugged. "I haven't spoken to her in some time. I've been very busy."

"Ministry work?"

"Sort of," he said hesitantly. "I'm…organizing a fundraiser."

Ginny couldn't stop the look of unadulterated shock that came over her face. Iris had mentioned Draco's charitable works but hearing him talk about it in person is sort of like coming face to face with the Easter Bunny. Even though it's right in front of you you're still not sure you believe in it's existence. "A fundraiser? Really? For what?"

He paused and blinked a few times. "Orphans."

"Orphans?"

He looked a bit flustered. "Animals?"

She cocked her head. "Are you not sure?"

"No, I'm sure. Of course, I'm sure. Wouldn't be much of a fundraiser if I didn't know what we were raising funds for, would it?" He paused to brush off invisible crumbs from the table.

He seemed nervous and then Ginny remembered that Iris said he didn't like talking about his charitable work . "So orphans and animals then?"

"Orphans and animals….and the poor."

Ginny's brow furrowed deeply. "You're organizing a fundraiser for…poor orphaned animals?"

He gave a broad laugh. "No…. that would be foolish. It's…it's just a general fundraiser where the proceeds will be split among several different charities. We figure we can get make the party big enough where we invite three times the number of people but have only one event thus cutting costs drastically and allowing us to have more money to donate to the various charities."

That previous shocked look came back and now it was supplemented by simple awe. "That's…. that's brilliant."

"It is, isn't it? I surprise myself sometimes." The waiter came over with some ice for Ginny and Draco took it upon himself to administer it. He placed a cloth napkin over her skin and tenderly applied the ice to her swollen ankle. It was so surreal to see Draco after all this time and to have him be so helpful and so charming. She also couldn't help but marvel at how good he looked. So much less angular than he did at Hogwarts, so mature and ….well… grown up. He was perfectly manicured and groomed and he smelled unbelievably good. She thought he might have been on his way to a date because he looked like a man intent upon impressing a very special girl.

"Well, enough about me, Ginevra. On to more fascinating topics. What are you up to?"

She found herself blushing and she hated herself for it. She hadn't blushed since she was thirteen. "Please call me Ginny. No one calls me Ginevra."

"Really? But it's such a beautiful name. I'll admit for years I thought Ginny was short for Virginia which is really rather horrid, but when I found it was Ginevra, well, I don't think I could call you anything else."

She was now certain that she was blushing she could set the tablecloth on fire.

"Did you know that a Muggle artist named Leonardo da Vinci had a rather lovely painting titled _Ginevra de' Benci._," Draco informed her. He was still kneeling next to her pressing the ice to her swollen ankle. It suddenly occurred to Ginny that he very, very close to her. "She was a lady of the aristocracy Florence in the late 15th Century," he ocntinued. "She was very much admired for her exceptional intelligence," he paused to flash that enegamtic smile, "and her hair is reddish, only not quite as vibrant as yours."

Ginny lifted her hand to her hair suddenly conscious of the fact that she hadn't really brushed it this morning.

"It sounds like it should be used in poetry." He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Ginevra's fire burned. Her hair. Her eyes. My soul. And I was forever lost in her flames."

Ginny's eyes were honed on his lip is and they way moved when they said her name. She suddenly found herself very thirsty. "Waiter!" she bellowed in a shaky voice. "Please I'm terribly parched. Can I have a large pumpkin juice please….with lots of ice."

Draco continued to smile. "I'm sorry. I'm making you uncomfortable. That wasn't my intent. I…I just get caught up in the moment, I suppose. You must be used to that."

"To what?"

"To spontaneous poetry and some fool waxing philosophical about your name. I'm sure your boyfriend can't stop gushing around you."

"My…" It suddenly dawned on her that he probably didn't know that she was with Harry. Why should he it wasn't like she was keeping tabs on her or something. "My boyfriend is not quite as articulate as you are Draco. He's always been a bit more reserved."

"Really. Seems a shame."

That almost sounded like pity and Ginny wasn't sure she liked it. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I don't mean anything. It's just….well I would never allow anyone I cared about to feel like she was anything less than…everything. Were I the talkative sort or not any woman who I was with would…should be made to feel like nothing else in the world mattered."

"I do feel that way most of the time. Just every once in a while Ha..he just seems to need some time to himself. We all do. Sometimes. We don't always need to share everything that is going through our head. Even if someone is there that really cares and wants to help."

He put his hand on hers. "I don't want to pry but it sounds like someone is shutting you out of his life and that is intolerable..

Her temper flared and she jerked her hand away. "You don't-"

Draco put his hand up to stop her. "I'm sorry. I'm getting too personal and I'm speaking out of turn. I don't want to spoil what has turned out to be a really wonderful afternoon. I just know that if you and I were dating, for the sake of example, I would bare my soul to you freely and eagerly. I would share every detail of my life because you can only make those details better. You shouldn't settle for less than that from anyone. You deserve that much." He paused and picked up a menu. "Now please allow me the honor of treating you to lunch."

It was over three hours later that Ginny found herself walking him in a fog. Despite a rather peculiar start she had just had the most fun she's had in months, and with Draco Malfoy no less. He was funny and well spoken. He was kind and genteel. He was…enchanting.

Moreover he talked to her, really talked to her about his life. About the challenges of living with the Malfoy infamy that has plagued him his whole life and how he refused any of his father's estate even though he was the rightful heir. About how he struggled with lonely night after lonely night. About how he cried the first time he worked in an animal shelter. He got weepy just talking about it. He opened up to her more in one night than Harry has in all the months they'd been dating.

It was the one thing that she felt had been missing from her relationship. She's been in love with Harry for so long, it never dawned on her that the relationship could be anything less than perfect. But it was. Draco was attentive and candid. He made her feel like she was the only person in the world who mattered. Like that one afternoon together meant everything to him.

She was confused and that didn't sit well with her. She needed to talk to someone so she made a quick detour to Hermione's hoping against hope that her friend would be there. It was Harry who answered the door.

"Ginny, have you seen Ron?" he asked. His face pale and his voice stern.

"Not since this morning. Why?"

She entered the room to find Hermione sitting on the couch crying hysterically with one of Ron's shirts clutched in her hand.

She pulled Harry over. "What's going on? What's happened?"

Harry shook his head. "I have no idea what's going on but it's something and it's not good. Hermione found Iris's designer lipstick on Ron's collar."

Her stomach dropped. "Are you serious?"

"It gets worse. Hermione found the notes that Ron had been hiding, they are all from Iris and they list places and times to meet. Some have explicit instructions on what excuse to tell Hermione."

"Oh god," she gasped and brought her hands up to her mouth, quickly covering it before she let anything else slip.

"What?" Harry grasped at her arms.

"Today." she began shakily. "I followed him around for a bit. He was buying things. Flowers. Lingerie. Chocolates. I assumed they were all for Hermione. But…. I 'm not sure. I don't understand any of this."

"Bastard," he growled. "Where did he go after that?"

"I don't know. I lost him."

"Where have you been all afternoon?"

"Out…with a friend." She paused nervously. "Look this can't be what we think it is. Ron would never hurt Hermione. Never. What does he have to say about all this."

"Nothing. He's gone and so are all his clothes." Harry's shoulders dropped." Ginny, he's left and I don't think he's planning on coming back.


	12. Tiny Knickers and White Flags

Much love to abigail, without whom this fic would not be here.

**Chapter Twelve – Tiny Knickers and White Flags**

Ron's eyes slowly blinked open. He let out a loud yawn and stretched before sitting up. For some reason he was lightheaded, and his tongue felt thick and furry. _What had he been up to last night?_ He looked around, hoping to find something to drink or, perhaps, something to hit himself over the head with so that he could go back to sleep. Sadly, neither was available. He was considering smothering himself with a pillow, a tactic Hermione used to quell his sometimes enthusiastic snoring, when he noticed that he wasn't at home and not in his own wonderfully squishy bed.

He quickly realized it wasn't jus the bed that was different. There were no Chudley Cannons posters on the wall. No laundry piled in the corner. No trail of books leading to the bed – he used those to entice Hermione. Instead he was in room that was pink and frilly, and smelled of a brothel – or how he thought a proper brothel should smell.

"You're finally up, I see."

"Iris?" he said groggily. Ron vaguely remembered that he was supposed to meet her today. However, he was pretty sure it was supposed to be at a print shop to look at invitations for Hermione's shower and not in some strange, brothel–smelling room. He was also pretty sure that she was not supposed to be wearing a sheer negligee and garters. And she most definitely was not supposed to be looking at him like dinner was being served and he was the main course. Between the heavily perfumed room, the nearly nonexistence clothing, and the salacious look, he knew something wasn't quite right. "Wha…what's going on?"

"Oh, Ron," she sighed as she walked – more like strutted and wiggled like gelatin on legs - toward him. "Please forgive me for taking such drastic measures, but I just couldn't bear it any more."

Ron may have been only partially coherent, but his keen senses were still sharp. "Am I dead?"

She paused at the end of the bed and ran her hand slowly across its frame. "No, you're in a villa in the south of France."

"France?" He said the word but it wasn't registering with his greater faculties. "Did you just say France? As in the country of France which, the last time I checked, wasn't in Great Britain?" He looked about the room trying to decide if she was having him on or he was really not in London anymore. "Iris, why are we in France?"

Her eyes grew wide and her bosom heaved with despair. "I couldn't bear what she was saying about you. I couldn't let you go through with that sham of a marriage. You deserve so much more, Ron."

"What the hell are you talking about, and would you please put on a robe or something?" He lifted the bed cover up to his neck. "And once more, in case you missed it, what the bloody hell are we doing in France?"

"Nothing….yet," she said softly as she sat down next to Ron.

Ron jumped up and off the bed only to find that he wasn't wearing anything…at all. He shrieked, in a very high-pitched girly way, and grabbed at the duvet. Like a magician at a child's party, he pulled the cover off the bed in one swift movement, so quickly that Iris barely moved even though she was sitting on top of it. Ron wrapped the it around himself like a toga and began shouting. "Are you out of your tree?"

"Ron darling, please calm down and have a seat." She patted a spot next to her on the bed.

Ron kept a tight grip on the duvet. "Don't call me darling and don't tell me to have a seat. I will stand over here, while you stay over there, and tell me what is going on."

Iris sighed - a bit more dramatically this time - and stood up, careful to stay on her side of the bed. "It's her, Ron. Hermione. She doesn't deserve you."

"For the love of…" he brought his hand up to his temple and began to rub. "Stop being cryptic. It makes my head hurt."

Iris tossed her long silky hair back as she squared her shoulders. "She talks about you all the time, Ron."

"So?"

"So, it's not flattering."

Ron was starting to panic. This bird was flying too high for his tastes. "You are clearly insane and I have no time to spend with insane people, so if you don't mind, I'd like my clothes….and my bloody wand…Where is my stuff?"

Iris would not be distracted. "She's cruel and hateful and...and she doesn't love you."

He froze. "What did you say?"

Iris's eyes dropped and she spoke just above a whisper. "She doesn't love you. She told me. You're merely…convenient."

Ron felt his mouth go dry. "I don't believe you."

Iris looked genuinely upset. She was either an accomplished actress who would stop at nothing to ruin his forthcoming nuptials – and really, how silly was that? – or she was really concerned about him. "I…I hoped it wouldn't have to come to this, but I can already see that nothing I say will convince you otherwise. This is something you'll have to see for yourself." Iris turned and walked over to a closet where she pulled open a set of doors. Inside on a small table sat a Pensieve - one of the newer chrome models with the optional glass lid and pewter handles – it was quite fetching. "Please look at this," she said pleadingly. "It will explain everything."

Ron didn't move. He never liked those things, not since he was 9 and accidentally fell into one that his parents owned, a souvenir of their honeymoon and a remnant from the early years of their marriage. Ron learned early on why the Weasleys have so many kids and he still had nightmares. "I'm not going anywhere near that thing."

"Ron, I don't want to hurt you, it's the last thing I'd want to do, but you have to know. You have to see for yourself what I'm talking about. I can't have you leaving here, and going back to her, without knowing the truth." She placed one hand on the Pensieve and the other on her heart. "Please, Ron."

Iris stepped away from the pensieve and walked to the far corner of the room leaving a clear path for Ron. The damned chrome and pewter abomination just sat there, its grey mist oozing about, taunting him. He didn't believe one word of what she was saying but he had to admit he was curious – it seemed an awful lot of trouble to go through for nothing. Ron still felt somewhat lightheaded but, as he had no idea where his clothes or his wand were, he had little choice. With both hands firmly clasping his toga he walked across the room. He took a deep breath and entered the Pensieve.

The scene began to come into focus and he found Hermione sitting at a table, sipping some tea. She was in her old clothes and not wearing any makeup. This must be from when she first met Iris.

"I can't tell you how thankful I am to be able to talk to you about my plans. Ron's a dear, but he's a bit dim. I could try to talk to him about these things but I'm afraid it's all a bit over his head. I don't know, perhaps if I talked a bit slower he'd get it." She let out a harsh laugh. "If I drew him pictures, or something. Big words scare him." She continued to sip her tea.

Her words stung Ron deeply. Sure, he wasn't fond of big words, but they didn't scare him – well, maybe the really big ones, but mostly he just felt they were silly. Why use a twelve-letter word when three four-letter words worked just as well. It was simple math, really. And he wasn't dim! Hermione never called him dim before….not to his face.

The scene melted away and another came one into focus. Ron didn't know that Pensieves could do that, but this was a newer model so maybe it was an upgrade or something. Whatever his doubts were, he set them aside as he suddenly found himself in a dressing room where the girls were trying on clothes.

Hermione was in her knickers and Iris was…in considerably smaller knickers. Quite possibly the smallest knickers in the world. Could they even be called knickers at that size? Floss or twine, perhaps, but "knickers" seemed to have too many letters to waste on such a small bit of material. His conscience told him he should cover his eyes but he felt it his duty to pay careful attention to all the details of the scene… for the sake of his pending marriage. He would make this sacrifice for….Hermione. Yes, for Hermione.

"I'm not kidding, he's exceptionally unremarkable," Hermione said as she held a dress up to her chin.

"That's an awful thing to say." Iris made no attempt to cover the nearly nonexistent knickers. "I think he's lovely."

"He's nice to look at but he's not terribly ambitious." Hermione picked up another dress. "I've decided long ago that he really wasn't going anywhere in life."

"I thought he did all right for himself," Iris said with a shrug as she looked away.

"It's as good as he'll ever do." She threw the dress in the corner of the dressing room. "They can't all be winners."

Ron felt like he was punched in the stomach. If he wasn't a winner, then what was he? He thought he was doing all right for himself, too.

The scene changed again, and Hermione was sitting in chair while a woman fussed around with her hair. Iris was in the chair next to her. Hermione was admiring her newly polished nails. "He's always there, you know. Waiting like a dog for me to give him instructions. I swear he'd piss himself if I didn't tell him to go the bathroom. It gets annoying, you know, being in a relationship with a half-wit."

"That's an awful thing to say." Iris's narrowed her eyes.

Hermione seemed unfazed. "Awful as it might sound, it's true. He is rather useless most of the time. It's pathetic."

Iris's face grew dark. "Why are you with him, then?" she asked.

"It's easy, I suppose. He's so taken with me that he doesn't ask for much. I can concentrate on my career." She paused to examine her nails again. "He's decent in bed. There's that, I suppose. He's good enough distraction when I need it and easy to shoo away when I don't."

"You shouldn't talk about him that way," Iris said with a frown. "He is going to be the father of your children."

She let out a cruel laugh. "Children! You can't be serious. There won't be children. I couldn't possibly allow that gene pool to continue. Can you image a house full of sniveling little redheads? I'd rather die…"

"Stop!" Ron yelled as he pulled himself out of the memory. "Enough." He fell to his knees with a whimper. "Enough."

Iris knelt on the floor next to Ron and put her arms around him "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I hoped you'd believe me without your needing to see that."

He pulled away. "You did something to them. You changed them somehow. They can't be real."

"Ron," she said pitiably, "I'm not some sort of psychopath trying to destroy your life by showing you manipulated Pensieve memories in order to gain your trust and pull you away from the woman you love. That's insane. It's like the plot to some incredibly lame story. "

"It is rather preposterous, isn't it?" He knelt back down so that he was resting on his ankles. "I still don't believe it."

"You saw it with your own eyes, Ron. You won't believe your own eyes?"

"My eyes have played tricks on me before. I've seen enough to know not to believe everything I've seen." He paused as he even managed to confuse himself. "And don't think I've forgotten that you are part Malfoy," he added accusingly.

"Of course," she said with a smile. "Draco is behind all this. Some sort of twisted scheme by someone you haven't seen in years. Is that another part to your incredibly inane tale of revenge and subterfuge? Who would write that?"

"Okay, I'll admit that it sounds incredibly stupid, but Hermione would never say those things about me."

"Why? Because she doesn't think she's smarter than you or because she thinks you don't need to be pushed or to be motivated?"

"That's not fair!" He was panicking again. "She thinks she's smarter than everyone and no one is nearly as motivated as she is. It doesn't prove anything."

"I suppose she's never said anything about you being lazy or thick headed …or having the emotional capacity of a teaspoon."

Ron froze. The truth of the matter was those scenes were nothing more than his own insecurities playing out before him. The fears that kept him from pursuing her for so long in the first place. The ones that still plagued him every time she said or did something so amazing that he wondered why she chose him.

He wasn't smart enough or ambitious enough. He wasn't good enough for her. Why was he surprised that she finally realized that? "It can't be true," he said weakly.

Iris shook her head. "I don't know what else I can do to convince you."

He dropped his eyes the ground, looking every bit the lost puppy. She reached out and placed a hand under his chin and gently lifted it up. "Ron, she isn't what she appears to be. She's manipulative and selfish and controlling. She might have loved you once but she doesn't know what that means any more. Think about how you two got together. She only wanted you when someone else had you, and even then it was more about taking you away from someone else. Remember how she got rid of Maria Elena?"

"She told you?" He was shocked, Hermione never talked about it. She claimed she felt guilty.

"In vivid detail," Iris replied with a shiver. "She gloated about it endlessly. About how much smarter she was than everyone else and how she always got what she wanted and you just…. Ron, you were the prize, and for that, she will always be with you. You're a trophy to her. A symbol that she can have everything she wants when she wants it. Haven't you noticed how bossy she is?"

He huffed. "She's always been bossy. From the first time I met her. That's nothing new."

"She's worse now," Iris insisted. "She won't let you go because she feels she has ownership. She doesn't care about you …not the way a woman should. Not the way you deserve. You can walk away, Ron. You can leave and make a new life for yourself. You deserve a real chance at happiness…with me."

The world had gone mad. "With…what? With you?"

Iris moved closer to him, leaning forward so that he could see down her negligee all the way to her navel. "Hermione is too egomaniacal to see the good in you. I see a strong, intelligent man who is loyal to a fault. I see a warm, compassionate soul, an adventurous spirit. I see a face I want to wake to every morning and arms that I want to hold me at night. I want to take care of you, Ron. Let me show you." She lightly pushed him over so that he was no longer on his knees. He shifted so that his legs were out on the floor in front of him. She got up and carefully sat on his lap, wrapping her long legs around him.

"What…what are you doing?" he said nervously.

"I know how to treat a man, Ron," she whispered as she placed her arms around his shoulders. "I know what you need. And I want to give it to you ….over and over again." She leaned forward and placed a small kiss on his collarbone. He froze beneath her. "It's all right, love," she assured him. "Just let me take care of you."

"I think I'd better go," he stammered as he tried to pry her off his legs.

She wrapped her legs tighter as she pulled on the comforter that he had wrapped around himself. "Let me," she whispered again.

He swallowed hard. "I've got a pressing engagement."

"Let me," she repeated as she bit at his neck and lazily ran a tongue up to his ear.

"No, really," he said less convincingly. "I've got a meet… a man….at a place…..about a thing….I'm already terribly late."

She sat up a bit and pulled at the straps of her negligee until they slid down her body and pooled around her waist. She curved her back so that her breasts were pressed against him, her hot skin touching his. "Please let me." She rubbed the tip of her nose to Ron's and their lips brushed.

Ron closed his eyes, mystified by the sound of her voice and feel of her body rubbing his. For the briefest of moments he thought of the look on Hermione's face when she called him dim and useless, and it tore him apart. We wanted to cry out…to run. But Iris was here and she was soft and smooth, and felt so right against his body. He needed to forget and Iris wanted to help him do just that. Without another word of protest, he surrendered; and when her lips took his, he knew that he was lost.


	13. And That’s Why You Always Lock The Spiri

Chapter 13 – And That's Why You Always Lock The Spirits Cabinet 

Ginny's stomach tightened more with each word Harry uttered until it was nothing more than a knotted ball doing cartwheels in her abdomen. "What do you mean gone?" _Gone? Where would Ron go? Ron never wanted to be anywhere other than by Hermione's side_. "And what this 'never coming back' nonsense?" _Ron would never desert Hermione like that. Harry has clearly lost his bloody mind_. " Have you lost your bloody mind?"

Harry grabbed Ginny by the arm and led her to an open bedroom. He glanced quickly at Hermione, who was blowing her nose in the tablecloth, and closed the door behind them. "Now is not the time for hysterics," he snapped.

"Hysterics?" she screeched. "You think this is me in hysterics?" She let out a laugh that was, in fact, quite hysterical. "You've no idea how bloody hysterical I can be, Harry. If you think this is bad wait about three minutes and watch the roof blow clean off this place. That'll mean I'm slightly peeved. When I get truly hysterical I suggest you shield your privates and run as fast as your legs can carry you."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Don't take your hostilities out at me. Your blasted brother is the one who's gone off the deep end and ditched Hermione just weeks before their wedding. He's the one who's made a mess off things. He's the one who's lost his bloody mind."

Ginny threw her hands up in the air. "Oh, so now you're ready to admit that there was something wrong with Ron. This morning you told me to quit nagging him, as I nagged everyone else, but now things look a bit different, don't they?" she remarked smugly.

He let out a loud sigh. "Is this really the time to bring that up?"

"Why the hell not?"

"Fine," he said through gritted teeth. "You were right and I was wrong. Does that make you happy?"

Ginny could feel her inner Molly Weasley about to blow a gasket. "No! You ruddy horse's arse, that does not make me happy. It has nothing to do with my being right - which I was – and you being wrong – so horribly wrong, by the way. This has to do with you not listening to me. You not talking to me. You not communicating with me at all."

Harry blinked three times before responding. "What the blazes are you going on about now?"

"Nothing…oh, everything." She sighed and brought her hands up to her face. When she spoke again her voice was a bit shaky. "We should have seen this coming, Harry, we really should have, but we didn't. We should have known that something was amiss, but I spend all my time on eggshells around you, terrified that I'm going to say or do something wrong. And you--you sit in a stupor and daydream about Lord knows what and you don't share any of that with me. Meanwhile, my brother, your best friend, is carrying on a tawdry affair and we missed it. We missed it. If that doesn't show that there's something wrong here I don't know what does."

Harry still looked thoroughly confused. "This isn't about you and me, Ginny. This is about Ron…"

She shook her head. "No Harry, you're wrong. This is about us. All of us. Things are supposed to be perfect now. Ron and Hermione getting married; you and I are …together. But it hasn't been perfect. Sometimes it's not even good. I've felt it. I think you have too. And maybe Ron did as well. Maybe that's why he left."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Harry insisted. "Ron left because some tart drugged him and stole him away to Burma or France or something. She's the one to blame I know it. You can't trust anyone that has even an ounce of Malfoy blood in her. She's done something to him."

Now Ginny looked confused. "You make it sound like some nefarious plot. She's not some psychopath out to destroy us, Harry. Some vindictive hateful shrew with a complicated and convoluted scheme aimed at ruining our lives. She's just a tramp. A selfish, egotistical harpy who got her claws into my brother. She seduced him with her pretty eyes and unnaturally big breasts."

"You think they're unnatural?" Harry asked with a shrug of his shoulders. "Because I thought they were really very-"

"We are not about to discuss her breasts," Ginny interrupted before Harry said something that would make her have to kill him. "Not now. Not ever."

"You brought them up," Harry helpfully pointed out.

"I …yes, I brought them up. Now I am taking them off the table. Got it? Her breasts are now off the table and in the 'Never to be Discussed Again' pile. You follow?"

Harry was about to say something else that would surely antagonize Ginny even more when the door burst open. To Ginny's horror, Hermione stood there, wild-eyed and holding a half empty bottle of tequila. This was not a good sign.

"We're out of limes," she said plainly.

Ginny and Harry exchanges quick looks which clearly said 'Code Red. Assume your positions.' Harry held his ground, maintaining eye contact with Hermione while Ginny moved along the far wall to try to get closer to her friend without startling her. It was very important not to startle Hermione when she was in this condition. It was just better for everyone involved.

"Hermione," Harry said gently, "put the bottle down."

She gave her head a slow shake and held the bottle to her chest, cradling it like a small child. "No."

She was looking straight at Ginny when she said 'No' causing Ginny to freeze in her tracks. Damn. She'd been spotted. Ginny gave Hermione an apologetic smile and made her way back to Harry.

"I swear I locked the spirits cabinet," Ginny whispered to him.

"Do you really think there's locking spell in the world she can't get around?" he whispered back.

"I used six locking charms in a specific combination. It should have taken days to figure out the proper sequence."

"A couple of days, in Hermione terms, are about six minutes."

He turned back to his inebriated friend. "Hermione," he said, a little bit of warning in his voice. "Enough of this. You'd had your fill now put the bottle down."

"No," she repeated with an eerie calmness.

"Step away from the bottle."

"You can't make me. I'm an adult. I'm more of an adult that you are." Her eyes widened, as she seemed to suddenly realize something, "You 're younger than me. You're the child here. You should be taking orders from me. Now leave me alone. And learn to respect your elders, you cheeky bastard."

Ginny stepped forward. "Hermione, love, you know how you get when you drink. It's not good for you."

"It's very good for me," she insisted as she clutched the bottle tighter. So tight that Ginny thought it might shatter. "It loves me," Hermione continued. "It won't ever leave me." Hermione froze at her own words. Her lips began to quiver and her eyes, to shine, and before Harry or Ginny could say another word she began to wail like a banshee with a really bad paper cut.

They ran over to catch as her as she started to fall. She collapsed into their arms in a boneless heap. It was with some difficulty that they managed to get her onto the bed. Try as they might they couldn't pry the bottle from her vice-like grip.

They exchanged looks again, this time clearly saying they hadn't the foggiest idea what to do. True Hermione and alcohol didn't mix well but she so seldom lost her cool. They sat on ether side of their sobbing friend, trying to soothe her:

"It will be all right."

"It must be a misunderstanding."

"We mustn't have all the facts."

She shot up suddenly and sat upright. "I'll kill him," she growled. Her hair had successfully fought off any of the styling products she used and currently sprang around her head so that she looked like a half crazed (possibly fully crazed) lion. Her blouse started to come unbuttoned and one shoe had fallen off. She's completely lost it. Ron finally managed it; he'd broken Hermione.

"Hermione, don't get yourself any more upset than you are already," Ginny said, while once again trying to dislodge the bottle from Hermione's talons.

"It won't upset me to kill Ron. It will help," she said brightly.

"No, it won't," Harry insisted. He wanted to grab at the bottle but he had the distinct impression that if he were to attempt it, Hermione would bite him.

"I can do it, you know. I can kill a man eight ways and make it look like natural causes. Sixteen ways and make it look like an accident. And one way that will require a broom handle, a couple of potions that have been illegal for a hundred years, and some small animals." She turned to Harry and giggled. "That one's my favorite." She was still giggling when she fell back onto the bed again.

Ginny started to get nervous. Being drunk often made Hermione emotional but this is the first time she could ever remember her friend speaking of wreaking havoc in such a calm manner. The first time it was alcohol induced anyway. "Hermione, it isn't as bad as all that."

Hermione shot up again and fixed a hate-filled gaze upon Ginny. "I'm supposed to be getting married in less than six weeks and I come home to find that the love of my life has abandoned me and run off with someone I thought was my great friend. All his belongings are gone except for one lipstick-laden shirt, and you have the absolute, unmitigated gall to tell me that 'It isn't as bad all that'. What would be worse? If he killed my parents and shot my cat before he left?"

"Well, that would be worse, wouldn't it?" Ginny replied weakly.

"You're lucky to have five other brothers, Ginny, because when I get my hands on him I'm…I'm. I'm…" and she fell onto the bed in a twisted bundle, sound asleep before her head hit the pillow.

They sat in silence and watched her for several minutes before Harry spoke. "It's odd, isn't it?" he said over Hermione's snores.

"Odd?" Ginny remarked as she tried to get Hermione in a more comfortable position on the bed. "Odd doesn't quite seem like the right adjective here. Inconceivable. Impossible. Bloody insane."

Harry didn't seem to hear a word she said. "All his stuff is gone. "

She shot him a vicious look. "Brilliant deduction, Holmes. How'd you manage that?"

He grabbed her shoulder, making her pause and look at him. "All his stuff is gone except for one lipstick-laden shirt."

It hit her like a lightening bolt. Suddenly Ginny realized what he was saying. "It's a set up, isn't it? He was taken away."

"We have to find Ron," he said to Ginny.

"And quickly. I don't know how much more of this she can take." She indicted her friend who was currently drooling on the pillow.

"Her and me both," Harry added with a sigh. "I'll go get Tonks. She might be able to help us find Ron."

"No," Ginny said slowly, a far away look in her eyes. "You stay here with her. You've had more experience this sort of thing. There's someone else who'll know what's going on."

"Who?" Harry asked as she gathered her things and hastened to the door.

She turned and looked at him before storming out. "Someone I ran into today."

The door clicked menacingly behind her and inexplicably Harry felt sorry for whoever had crossed Ginny Weasley.


	14. The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Malfoys

**Chapter 14 – The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Malfoys**

The Weasleys are a close-knit family. When there are that many people living in such tight quarters, well… they really don't have much choice, do they? But even within this supportive, cohesive unit there were smaller subgroups; little alliances built in, woven through the fabric of the family cloth, which only helped in making it a virtually unbreakable whole.

Molly and Arthur were obviously the most practiced of these cooperatives. Being in charge of the growing brood made their bond a basic necessity for survival. Fred and George perfected it, of course. Looking alike and essentially sharing one brain made them nearly indestructible as a pair. They only ever yielded to Molly and Arthur, mainly to Molly, and only then when they were fighting with each other, which was often. Charlie and Bill, being the oldest and barely a year apart, made them as skillful a unit as the twins, though not nearly as creative or mischievous, which is probably why Molly and Arthur saw fit to reproduce again. (Had Fred and George been the first born the line might have been cut off early for the sake of Wizarding-kind.) Next in line was Percy and Percy's ego – there was little room for anyone else.

That left Ginny and Ron, literally, as that was all that was left. It was essential that they formed some sort of pact lest they be trounced by the other, stronger, Weasley duos. Their strength lay in the fact that no one ever realized how connected they were. Not even _they_ realized it. Ron would never admit that he admired Ginny's assuredness and her capabilities as a witch. Ginny would never admit that she liked the way Ron looked out for her as if she was a very precious thing. Loyalty, love, and a few shared misadventures united them. United them so much, in fact, that the minute Ginny slammed the door and Apparated to an address across town, Ron, who was hundreds of miles away, startled and pulled away from a pair of pink, lush lips that were pressed to his.

"I can't," he shrieked as if someone had just plucked a hair out of his nostril. A long and rather embedded hair.

Iris blinked at him. "Can't? Can't what?"

"This," he said weakly, "I can't do this."

"But you are doing this," she grinned as she moved in closer. "You are doing it very well."

"Yes. No. I mean ... I haven't showered or brushed my teeth. I feel…I feel rather disgusted at myself." He slumped.

This last bit came out so genuine that she pulled back. "The bathroom is right over there." She motioned towards a door across the room. "But don't take long." She ran a long fingernail down his torso and then unwound her legs from his body. "It's rude to keep a girl waiting."

He nodded briskly as he stood and quickly gathered the bedspread around his naked form. As soon as he was able, he sprinted towards the bathroom and closed the door behind him. Once he was in the safety of the locked room, he fell to the floor in a heap.

What the hell was going on? There was no way Hermione could have said those things. Sure, she was different lately and a bit … distracted, but that was the wedding, right? Nerves? Right? Didn't everyone have nerves before their wedding? But the thing was, he didn't have any nerves. None at all. There was nothing that made him anxious about the wedding except perhaps that dancing bit that Hermione insisted on, or the twins' wedding gift, which could be potentially painful. But other than that, he knew it would be the best day of his life. It was to be the day that his life finally began. As recently as an hour ago he thought Hermione felt the same way. She was doing all the planning, or over-planning as Hermione was want to do, but she was looking forward to it as much as he was. Wasn't she?

He turned the tap on and ice-cold water poured from the faucet. He bent over the low sink and splashed the chilly water onto his face, rinsing away the last remnants of sleep. He looked up into the mirror and stared at his face. His eyes were red, his skin pale, and his lips looked like they'd been thoroughly kissed. _What had he done?_ No matter what he saw in that Pensieve, or thought he saw, the first thing he should have done was go to Hermione. Talk it out. Get her side of the story. He'd let his own insecurities get the better of him and it was destroying the only thing that ever mattered.

At that moment he knew what he had to do.

Ron emerged from the bathroom fifteen minutes later. Every inch of his body had been scrubbed so hard that he was nearly glowing pink. He was wearing nothing but some cologne he'd found in the mirrored cabinet.

"I hope that was fast enough." His voice was low; his smile, lazy.

She made a show of looking him over, up and down. "It was worth the wait. Now we can spend the rest of the day taking it slowly." Her eyes locked with his, as she strutted over to him, swaying her hips and flaunting her own nakedness. She draped her arms languidly around his shoulders, nuzzling his neck, breathing in his scent. "You smell good enough to eat." And with that she sank her teeth into the joint of his neck and shoulder.

He emitted a few appropriate gasps and moans as she kissed his neck. Meanwhile, he scanned the room, trying to figure out where she had hidden his things. She could have conjured away his clothes; it was most likely that she had, but she probably just hid his wand. If she had snapped it or taken it far away, he would have been alerted immediately. A wizard and his wand were very connected and he hadn't realized it was gone until he looked for it. She probably didn't want him to feel there was any danger so she hid it near. He still felt its presence, still felt its magic.

She reached a hand behind him and grabbed a handful of his backside. The "eep " this elicited was less than arousing. She pulled back and eyed his suspiciously. "Everything all right?"

"Yes," he assured her. "It's just that … Hermione had a butt thing," he lied. "Never went anywhere near it. You startled me."

Her smile widened and she clamped his behind harder in her claw-like grip. "I knew she was a prude. Trust me, darling, you have no idea what I plan to do to you today." She suddenly wrapped her fingers around the hardening shaft.

_Traitor_, he thought, as he looked down at the one body part which was obviously enjoying the attention. He scowled at his treacherous manhood as she began to stroke. "Hold on," he squeaked as he pushed away. "I thought we were taking this slow. How about a glass of wine? Or six?"

He stopped mid-stroke. "Wine? At this hour?"

"It's France," he said with a shrug. "It's almost required."

She contemplated this for a moment and gave a quick nod. "I suppose I could conjure some."

He tutted. "I'm surprised at you. Aren't you part Malfoy? One can't conjure a good wine."

She raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow. "You want me to go and purchase some? You want me to leave?"

"I want you … us to enjoy this day." He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. "It's been a while since I've been with another woman and I need to relax a bit. I don't want to jump every time you touch me. Wine would be very helpful. Since it's most likely that my clothes are a pile of ash, you'll have to go." He leaned down and ran a tongue along his ear as she had done to him earlier and whispered, "Please."

She let out a laugh. "Oh, you are good." After a moment she conceded. "A good bottle of wine would be nice, and I think there's a small shop in town. I'll be back in a few minutes." Within minutes she was dressed. She retrieved her own wand from the dresser drawer, and with a _pop_! she was gone.

Ron wasted no time and began to rifle through the room. At most he had ten minutes, and once she saw the mess he'd made, she'd know what he was up to. There was no turning back. He could feel his wand, feel its presence nearby. It had to be in the room.

He emptied every drawer, toppled the mattress, broke off pieces of the bed frame, ripped the paintings from the walls and tore off their frames. Nothing. His heart raced as each minute ticking away. _Where did she hide it?_

He ran to the closet that held the Pensieve and pulled the double-doors so hard that they nearly fell off their hinges. The space seemed bare except for the stone basin he'd peered into earlier. Feeling the anger swell, he picked it up and slammed it to the ground where it shattered into dust at his feet. He'd forgotten how fragile the things were. They looked so sturdy, but were actually only held together with the force of magic and the power of the memories they held.

He sank to his knees amid the rubble and let out a heavy sigh. He'd never find it in time.

Ron brought his hands to his face, trying to think of what to do next. His options were quickly evaporating. He dropped his head and looked at the mess he'd made on the floor with the shattered Pensieve. It was then he noticed that some of the dust seemed to seep into the floor. There was a line that ran along a floorboard where some of the dusty fragments had disappeared. He grabbed a leg from the bed he'd just destroyed and began to slam it against the floorboard until he cracked it. When he'd broken off a piece big enough, he wedged his fingers inside and began to pry them apart. There, in the dust and dirt, lay his wand. He reached in and grabbed it, feeling that familiar tingle in his fingers. This was it. He was going home.

He heard a faint, "I'm home, dear," as he Apparated out of sight.

* * *

Draco Malfoy was at his flat, drinking a bottle of wine he "borrowed" from the Minister's private stock, and awaiting a report from Iris. Should the plan have gone as it was supposed to --and really, why shouldn't it? -- she would be doing any number of inappropriate things with Weasley. He should have thought to record it for blackmail purposes later on. Or, possibly, for a few galleons on a quick sale, there were always people willing to pay for such things. Most of his friends, in fact.

By his calculations Granger should be a blubbering mess, half-drunk and making ludicrous and violent threats against mankind in general and her ex-fiancé in particular. Potter and Ginny should be at each other's throats: making accusations, placing blame, and pointing fingers.

Soon Ginny will realize that her new friend, Draco, was right, Potter was not the right man for her. She won't know where to turn, her best female friend being indisposed and her brother having abandoned her. She will remember a pleasant afternoon spent in a small café and show up at his doorstep: lost, vulnerable, and ripe for the picking.

He took another deep swig of wine. Ah, the simple joys of life: perfectly aged (and perfectly priced) wine, the abject misery of his most hated enemies, and the coming together of one amazing plan. Sometimes his own ingenuity surprised even him.

Then, the most unexpected thing happened. Well, several unexpected things, actually. In very quick succession. His front door was blown off its hinges and a blur of red _whooshed_ though his hallway and headed straight for him. He was thrown against the wall, which knocked down a painting he carefully pilfered from his father's prized collection, and cracked its frame. His wine splashed all over him, ruining a shirt that brought out his eyes perfectly. And, to top it all off, the tip of a wand was digging into his neck.

Ginny Weasley did show up at his door all right, but not quite as vulnerable as he might have hoped.

"Where is he?" she growled, curling her upper lip and baring quite a few teeth, some of which were undeniably sharp.

"Who?" This was apparently a mistake as now that wand was piercing his trachea.

"If you think I am here to play games, then you have made a very costly miscalculation." She gave the wand another nudge, which elicited a "gurrrguah" from her captive. "I know that you're involved with all this."

"Really, Ginny. I haven't the fog - gurrrguaaah…."

"Draco," she said with an eerie calm, "you are trying my patience."

Her eyes narrowed; she looked psychotic. And not the usual look of instability that all Weasleys had, but something far more sinister. It was time to come clean. What was that Muggle expression? The pig was up? Perhaps a little bit of the truth would keep her from killing him outright. "I did it for you."

Of all the things she might have expected to hear, this apparently was not on the list. She blinked repeatedly for a good thirty seconds before she pulled the wand back. A look of complete incomprehension flowed over her face and she seemed to sway where she stood. "What did you say?"

He brought a hand to his neck and felt the angry divot left by the wand tip. "You heard me."

She took a step back. "No, I don't think I did," she said softly. "I couldn't have. It makes no sense."

"What doesn't make sense?" It was time to turn on the charm. He had to sell it. "What? That you're worth turning the world upside down for? That someone would move heaven and earth to be with you? That someone … that _I _would risk so much just for just the chance to talk to you?" He pulled his shoulders back and gave his best indignant glare. "If that is truly the case, then Potter has done a miserable job of being your lover because you are worth it all, and more."

The lines around her eyes softened though her lips remained pursed. "Where's Ron?"

_Hmmm…._ _That same speech worked wonders with the niece of the Ambassador of Burundi. Time to change tactics. _"There's no need to worry about him. It's you I'm concerned with. He's fine. He's happy. " Draco paused for a moment, tilting his head toward her as she contemplated him. "Don't you think you deserve the same chance?"

"With you?" she said with a laugh. She ran a hand through her hair. "You think I'll be happy with… you?"

"I think you deserve the chance to try." His voice had the perfect blend of pleading and desperation. "Ginny, I've been watching you for a long time. Watching you try to turn a schoolgirl crush into a meaningful adult relationship. How often does that work, Ginny? Outside of fairy tales and romance novels. In the real world. How often? It didn't take much to turn Ron's head. It took very little, in fact. He was all too willing to go with Iris."

Her cheeks blazed red. "No, he didn't. He wouldn't. You tricked…"

"Oh, Ginny, please. What do you think I did? Kidnap him? Spirit him away to a foreign land? Now who's miscalculated?" Her shoulders dropped and there was the look he was waiting for. Lost. Vulnerable. Ripe.

She looked lost. "But Hermione…."

"Hermione was a childhood infatuation. A remnant of his adolescence he tried desperately to hold onto. A sweet effort, noble even, but like toy brooms and stuffed dragons we eventually out grow all these things." He took a tentative step towards her. "We grow and we grow apart. Some are just less willing to move on. Sometimes, we need a gentle nudge in the right direction."

She looked into his eyes. "You said you did it for me. What …what did you do?"

"Nothing depraved," he said with a small laugh. "Iris fell for Ron. She fell hard. It wasn't planned, believe me when I tell you it was in no way planned. But try as she might to fight it, she couldn't. One has very little control over matters of the heart. I hated seeing her so unhappy, so I helped her plan a romantic getaway."

"You planned a romantic getaway for your cousin … and my brother?"

"I know a thing or two about not being able to control matters of the heart. I understand about having feelings so strong that nothing else matters. I understand about needing someone so badly that it renders you deaf, dumb, and blind. I couldn't let her suffer as I have suffered. Not if I could help it. All I did was help her and Ron find each other. I'd do it again."

"And today? Bumping into me today? How did that fall into your plans?"

"I'll admit that was no accident," he said sheepishly. "I know you better than you think I do, Ginny. I knew that you would follow Ron. I just made sure to follow you. I'm sorry about that, I hated to deceive you, but I couldn't let you stop Ron and Iris."

"So you stopped my following Ron to help them escape? How is that doing something for me?"

"Helping Ron and Iris wasn't my only reason for intercepting you," he admitted. "I had hoped that when you saw how happy Ron was that you'd see that there are other … possibilities. Granted, it was sooner than I planned to show my hand, but I knew that I had little chance with you otherwise. I needed you to know the man I am and forget the boy I was." He took another few steps towards her so that they were inches apart. He brought a hand to her face and cupped her chin as he spoke softly.

"I've always admired you, Ginevra Weasley. I've always thought there was more to you than meets the eye. I'd like a chance to get to know you better. For you to know me better. And I think…I think, given a chance, you might like what you see. There are other paths for you. You just need to be willing to follow them. Come with me. Let's walk that path together." He leaned forward, his lips edging towards hers. His eyelids began to fall, but instead of the feel of full, moist sweetness, he found his lips wrapped around a piece of pointed wood.

"You must really think I'm an idiot. _Move Heaven and Earth. Walk the path with me._ Where do you get this rubbish? "

He pulled back, separating himself from her wand. "Too much?"

"I don't know what you're playing at, but if you think I'd go anywhere near you to do anything other than hex the living hell out of you, then you are as stupid as Ron has always insisted. If you did in fact do this - this being the thing you'll never really admit to – then it has nothing to do with caring for me as much as it has to do with using me for something." He made to say something but she stopped him. "Don't bother, Draco. I know you a bit better than you think as well and I know that you have no capacity for loving anyone but yourself. I haven't time for tall tales and figments of your repulsive imagination. I'm sick of your lame attempts at manipulating me. I will only ask you once more: Where is Ron?"

_So much for the master plan._ "She took him to a villa in France. But I'm telling you he wants to be there. I bet right now he doesn't even remember Granger's name."

She paused for a moment and contemplated his words. Within seconds she seemed to come to a decision. "Don't worry about Ron. If I know my brother -- and trust me, no one knows him better -- he'll be with Hermione by the time I return. I'm ashamed for ever doubting him. But I guarantee you right now, if you come near me or Ron or Hermione or Harry or anyone else I even remotely know I will curse you so thoroughly your great-grandchildren will feel it." She turned on her heel and walked out.

"Ginny," he called out, not willing to have a hundred million galleons slip through his fingers so easily. "If you just…." He stopped as he found she was still brandishing her wand but was aiming it much lower.

"Your grandchildren, Draco," she snarled. There were those sharp teeth again.

"Right." He backed up. "I suppose this means lunch is off for next week." The answer came in the form of a resounding slam.

As Ginny stepped through the threshold, she heard the unmistakable pop of someone Apparating into the room she had just vacated. She paused briefly outside his door and thought she heard someone scream, "What do you mean you were out getting wine?" just before she Apparated home.

* * *

**Epilogue**

"…and then, the next day, Potter shows up at my door. Apparently, as soon as Weasley got back, and once he was able to pry himself out of Granger's awaiting tentacles, they all compared notes and came to the unmistakable conclusion that it was all a plot against Potter because, of course, everything revolves around Potter. The world would implode if it were about anything other than Potter. There were about two hours of threats, a few of which I will admit, were rather creative and then, to make his point, he hexed me with that ridiculous curse that makes you dance about. I mean, really; he destroyed a dark lord and the best he could do was make me do The Hustle.

"My only consolation was that it took Weasley six attempts before he finally got home and the oaf didn't bother to stop long enough to conjure some up some shorts. I heard an irate mob chased across a crowded bizarre in Morocco and he was propositioned by a group of elderly nanas when he popped up in the middle of their knitting circle. If it wasn't for that, I'd be inconsolable."

Severus Snape quietly sipped his brandy and listened to the boy drone on. He had expected Draco to make a mess of things but even he didn't think that the boy could screw things up as royally as he had. And even now, after all this, the boy still hadn't a clue.

"Come on, Severus, you disappoint me. I was expecting in chorus of 'You incompetent fool'. 'You waste of perfectly good ineptitude'. 'You might as well be a Longbottom.' You know, all the sweet nothings you say when you're comforting someone."

Severus rewarded him with a patented sneer. "Your horrifically convoluted and sadly ill-advised plan not only managed to solidify Granger and Weasley's devotion but saved Potter's relationship from the brink of oblivion from where it was surely headed. In a show of utter incompetence you succeeded in achieving the exact opposite of all your goals and in record time; most people would need a lifetime to accomplish such a grand disaster."

Draco let out a sigh of relief. "Now that's more like it."

Severus had hoped that the boy was a bit wiser than his father, but it seemed there were some family traits that could not be drowned away in that shallow of a gene pool. "Foolish boy, did you really think you had to go through so much trouble? Everything you needed is right in this room."

Draco looked around Severus's ghastly dwelling. Other than its tacky furniture and lone ghoulish resident the only other thing within its slimy walls was Iris, who sat across from them, thumbing absentmindedly through a book she clearly wasn't reading. "What are you talking about?"

"He's talking about me, you idiot."

They both turned towards Iris. "Apparently, this case of speaking in nonsensical terms is contagious. What in blazes are you referring to?" Draco asked.

She paused long enough to roll her eyes. "You need to be bonded to a witch, right?"

"So?"

"So, you are actually part of me. We couldn't be more bonded than that."

He blinked at her for a moment. "But you need to be pure-blood. The part of you that is Marie Elena is a half-blood."

She shook her head. "It doesn't matter. I'm made of magic. I can't be any more pure than that. I, dear Draco, am the answer to your prayers." She sat back on her seat and smiled silkily. "People have been telling you to go fuck yourself all your life and now you get to finally do it."

Draco looked as though he knew he had just been insulted but couldn't be bothered to come up with a pithy reply. "The spell is only supposed to last for another couple of weeks. Then you disappear."

"Not if I'm pregnant," she informed him. "Once there is a new life growing inside me I become real. It takes life to make life. And I think the Potion's Master here can whip up a conception cocktail to help things along quickly. Once I'm pregnant, the bond between Marie Elena and me will be broken and we'll both be free. Of course, then you'll have to explain to her that you failed so spectacularly and that all her efforts were wasted, while you got exactly what you wanted. Somehow, though, I doubt you really care. "

He stared at her for a moment and then turned to Severus. "Is that right? Is what she's saying right?"

"Yes," Severus answered plainly. "You really don't care one iota about what that Marie Elena person thinks or what she has gone through?"

Draco began to twitch violently. "Don't toy with me, Severus."

Severus relented. "She seems to be making sense. Everything I remember about the magic you used to create her seems to be correct."

Draco turned back to Iris. "Why didn't you tell me sooner? Why make me go through all this nonsense?"

She shrugged. "I wanted Ron. Your needs never entered my mind."

"And now?"

"Now I have to go with my second choice." She held up a flawlessly manicured hand to stop Draco's pending tantrum. "I want to live, Draco. I like it here and I'd prefer to stick around a bit longer."

"So, it's still about you?"

She gave him a sly smile. "It's what you would have done."

This, no one in the room could deny. They began to talk of the evening's plans and it quickly became clear that these two people where made for each other. In more ways than one.

Severus had considered telling Draco that when he mentioned everything Draco needed was in this very room, he wasn't referring to Iris at all. That he, in fact, was referring to himself.

Lucius's will was nothing more than an elaborate and totally useless bit of drivel. He was more concerned with his choice of hats than making his final request any sort of legally binding contract. All Severus had to do was destroy it and it was forgotten. He had hoped Draco would realize this and offer him some bribe; there was a bit of ocean-view property he'd had his eye on.

Perhaps it was better this way. Despite all appearances, he did care for his godchild and this would make Draco happy. In truth, this was probably the only way Draco would find happiness and contentedness with another human being.

The younger Malfoy loved himself so much there really wasn't room for anyone else.

_finis_


End file.
